


Sew Right

by Candymacaron



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, American Football, Angst, Art School, Closeted Character, College, Coming Out, Drama, Fashion & Couture, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Infidelity, Love Triangles, M/M, Merthur - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Physical Abuse, Pining Arthur, Religion, Romance, Sexual Content, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 69,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candymacaron/pseuds/Candymacaron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, an all American boy fresh out of the Midwest, is thrust head-first into college life in San Francisco. He'd expected moving in with his girlfriend to be a change, but what Arthur hadn't counted on was the Merlin, the handsome fashion design student he'd be sharing their apartment with (and just how strongly he would feel about him).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> My endless adoration, and deep gratitude to my dear [Detochkina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina) who has been selflessly going through this story chapter by chapter to help beta, as the original had never had one (plot is entirely the same, only SaG elements have been updated). Thank you so much!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was one of the first fanfics that I ever wrote for any fandom, and so I have a special attachment to it. :)
> 
> My endless adoration, and deep gratitude to my dear [Detochkina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Detochkina/pseuds/Detochkina) who has been selflessly going through this story chapter by chapter to help beta, as the original had never had one (plot is entirely the same, only SaG elements have been updated). Thank you so much!!

Arthur searched through a sea of bobbing heads for Gwen’s unmistakable honey-brown locks. He had plenty of blondes to choose from, most of the bleached variety. It didn’t worry him that he couldn’t see his girlfriend amongst the faces at the Oakland International Airport arrival terminal; he didn’t expect to. Hell would go on holiday before Gwen was early for anything.

He grabbed the nearest luggage cart, not realizing that it had a gimp wheel. It took an annoying amount of effort to straighten it. If Arthur wasn’t so damn stubborn, he might have reconsidered the wisdom of boarding a flight to Oakland with his entire life packed in two suitcases, with an iPhone a blink away from death. 

It wasn’t until the last of Arthur’s bags were loaded onto the crippled cart that he noticed the young man with the teal scarf pretending not to stare at him. He was pale as bone and almost as thin, leaning against a pillar with a cardboard sign. Arthur forced his luggage cart next to the man, wondering what kind of lunatic wears a scarf in August.

Arthur cleared his throat. "That’s my name."

The man in the scarf looked down at his sharpie-scribbled cardboard and shifted awkwardly, as if he wasn’t sure how it had got into his hands in the first place.

“My name. On your sign,” Arthur elaborated.

A smile parted pillow lips, blue eyes peering under a tussle of black hair. "I thought so,” the young man said, offering his hand.

Arthur shook it automatically. The stranger’s fingers were slender, his grip surprisingly firm and as warm as his demeanor. When he unrolled from his slouch, Arthur was able to get a better feel of how tall he was. The guy had an inch over him, which meant that he was six foot at least. Arthur couldn’t say why, but the revelation ticked him off.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Arthur.” The stranger smiled.

“And who the hell are you?”

He didn’t mean to sound crass. He’d just come off a six-hour United Airlines flight, where he’d been fed nothing but peanuts and stuffed next to a painfully middle-aged woman. Even a saint can’t feign interest in Persian cats for four hours. The flight was purgatory and Arthur was in no mood for a game of ‘guess who’ at the airport with a nameless hipster.

The stranger grinned, putting down his sign. “I take it you haven’t checked your phone in a while?”

Arthur fished his phone from his back pocket, swiped open the lock screen and prayed for a sliver of battery life. The phone’s screen lit, flooding with missed texts from Gwen. 

“I’ll save you the trouble of reading those. Gwen called me this afternoon. Something came up. She’s stuck working late tonight at the GAP tonight. ‘Chino-gate’, she called it. Apparently everyone and their mother wants a pair of chinos, can you believe that? She asked me if I could pick you instead.” 

“And you are?”

“Merlin," the dark-haired man said, his low melodic voice cutting through the hum of the airport.“ Merlin Emrys.” 

Finally Arthur was getting somewhere. Merlin? No. Gwen had never mentioned anyone with a name that strange before. Part of Arthur wondered if the guy standing in front of him was a scammer, but even if he was, there was little need for concern. Whatever height Merlin had over him, Arthur easily outclassed him in weight and muscle. By the waifish look of Merlin, he could be brought down with one good punch, though Arthur would hate to make a scene at the airport if he didn’t have to.

Merlin, as if sensing Arthur’s apprehension, pulled out his own phone, fiddling with the screen and offering it up to Arthur’s ear. “Here, listen,” he said. 

Arthur hesitated. 

“It doesn’t bite,” Merlin added smoothly.

Gwen’s voice cooed from the speaker. Apparently she did coin the phrase ‘Chino-gate’. This Merlin guy was legit; the message on Merlin’s phone was from Gwen.

"So -- Merlin? Like the wizard?” Arthur asked casually. “You do magic tricks or something?”

“You mean cards?” Merlin replied, not caring to elaborate further. “I don’t have enough for a cab. Are you all right with taking BART?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “As in The Simpsons?”

“Ah, right. Out-of-towner. BART’s the acronym for ‘Bay Public Rapid Transit’. It’s the train system over here.”

“Gwen didn’t let you borrow her car?”

The tips of Merlin’s ears reddened to the color of fresh sunburn. “I, um... don’t drive.”

Arthur hooked one hand onto his cart, taking a swig of the stale backwash left in his water bottle. “Train’s fine,” he muttered.

*

They ditched the cart before reaching the escalator, Merlin struggling to haul Arthur’s luggage up the churning stairs. The suitcases barreled off the last step, one piece catching Merlin behind the leg, making him flounder and flail to stay standing. He had a lankiness about him that most people outgrow by their teens; a lack of grace that was laughable. And it took Arthur an incredible amount of polite willpower not to do just that.

When they reached the BART station, Arthur was asked for a five, Merlin fiddling with the machine till it spat out two tickets.

“I’m sure you’ll be an expert at the train once you start commuting to San Francisco for classes,” Merlin said, handing Arthur a glossy white ticket.

Arthur replied with a dry grunt. How did Merlin know he was starting school in the city? He wondered. Just how much has Gwen told this stranger about him?

“Richmond train now arriving on platform Two,” an electronic voice droned above.

They boarded the train and sat across from another, Arthur's luggage filling the space meant for their legs. Arthur guessed it to be an off commute hour; the train was almost deserted. The seats were a stained, coarse green cloth, sticky to the touch. Every now and again Arthur would get a wafting nose full of stale piss smell.

So this was his welcome to the Bay-Area? He couldn’t imagine taking this bio-hazard to school every day.

But today the reward waiting for Arthur was worth the stress.

In hours he’d be with Gwen, see her playful smile, sample the sweet taste of her kisses. They had maintained a long-distance relationship for three years; ever since Gwen had ditched her life in Indiana to get a degree in Fine Arts in California. Arthur had tried to suggest a program closer to home, in Chicago (a good compromise, in his opinion) but Gwen had never been romanced by the windy city. 

Sure, Arthur hadn’t been thrilled about the long-distance relationship, worrying about fidelity issues, but they had been together since their senior year of high school, and for Gwen he was willing to make it work. He’d had a fair share of girlfriends in the past, but out of all of them, Gwen was the only person Arthur had felt comfortable hanging out with. She didn’t bug him for sex all the time, or assume that because his father was loaded that Arthur should pay for every meal. Arthur had never had to stress with Gwen; they just co-existed peacefully together in their own skins.

He couldn’t help but wonder if things would be the same, now that they were giving the couple thing a real shot.

Arthur roused himself from his thoughts. “Merlin, how much longer until we arrive?”

He was met with the clack of the train tracks and a deep nasal sound. Merlin’s shoulders were slumped against the glass; his head lulling to the side, eyes closed.

“Hey!” Arthur growled, shaking Merlin from across the row. “Are you sleeping?”

“Am I what?” Merlin yawned, wiping a spot of drool off his chin.

“Asleep.”

“Possibly. How long was I out?”

“I don’t know how long you were asleep. I just looked over and you were -- Forget it. Did we miss our stop?” 

“Dunno. What was the last one?”

“Mc-something or other.”

Merlin stretched out his arms, curling comfortably into a ball in his seat. “Oh, MacArthur. Were in good shape. I’ll rest a bit more and we’ll get off at the next one.”

“But we almost missed our stop," Arthur growled. "Shouldn’t you at least sit up so you don’t nod off again?”

“Almost is a strange word,” Merlin mused, his eyes half lidded like a sunning cat. “Have you ever noticed that almost never happens? Just like the word tomorrow. It never really comes.”

The grey streets blurred around them in their moving capsule, Arthur watching silently as sunlight cut across the high ridges of Merlin’s cheekbones, his dark lashes fighting the song of sleep. There was something incredibly off about Merlin, so off in fact, that Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

*

To his credit, Merlin managed to stay awake the remaining fifteen minutes of their ride, the BART releasing them into the green bosom of a street called College Avenue. The sidewalks were dappled with sturdy oak trees; bicycles zipped past in gusts of wind. Cafes dotted the street, filled to the brim with laptop clicking fingers and Bluetoothed ears. A dreadlocked hippie at one corner crooned a poem about peace to passersby and Merlin flipped a quarter into his crochet hat, complimenting him on his voice.

Something about the skill of the flip made Arthur even less convinced that Merlin wasn’t an amateur magician.

“The apartment’s a short walk from here,” Merlin announced, grabbing both of Arthur’s suitcases. “Do you need to buy anything before we head over? Didn’t forget your toothbrush, did you?”

Arthur wheedled the suitcases out of Merlin’s hands. He was tempted to grab Merlin’s own shoulder bag from him too, but was certain the gesture would completely emasculate him. "No, I’m fine.”

“So, Arthur, is it your first time in California?”

“I went to Los Angeles once when I was a kid—Disneyland, and all that.” A picture from that trip still sat on the mantel in Arthur’s father’s living room. It was one of a few genuinely happy moments of of his childhood, when his father and stepmother weren’t at each other's throats. Arthur couldn’t blame his stepmother for filing for divorce from Uther after seven tumultuous years together. He’d only wished she’d fought harder for full custody of his step-sister, Morgan. 

Merlin sighed, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his bag. Staring straight ahead he asked, “So you’ve never visited Oakland before, or even San Francisco? Brave of you to move somewhere you’ve never been.” 

“Hardly," Arthur replied. "Gwen’s been nagging me to come up for two years, and this year in Indiana we had coldest winter in twenty years. It’s been snowing continuously since November, and I’ve been shoveling and salting all of it out of the driveway. I’m looking forward to some sun.”

“You’ll be majoring in industrial design at CCAC right?”

Strange, Arthur thought, this guy even knows my major. But all he said in reply was, “Yeah.”

“What do you think of Oakland so far?”

“I’ve been off the plane for less than an hour, so I’ll reserve judgment. But I can say without bias that it’s sunny.”

“It’s no SoCal,” Merlin replied. He shifted the bag on his shoulder, his scarf slipping down his neck, exposing ivory skin. “Don’t let it fool you. Always dress in layers—first rule of the Bay Area.”

The luggage wheels clicked cheerily down the sidewalk. They were moving away from cafés and into residential streets, passing brown-picket fences and imposing craftsman houses that looked large enough to house generations within.

Arthur didn’t know why he asked it. Curiosity? The realization that he knew nothing about Merlin except that Merlin knew far too much about him?

“So Merlin, how do you know Gwen?” he asked.

Merlin shrugged. “We’re in the same year at CCAC. And we’re roommates, of course.”

The words were a punch in Arthur's gut. “Wait, I thought she lived alone?“

Merlin stumbled over a root in the sidewalk, his eyes briefly meeting Arthur’s before retreating back to his sneakers. “Gwen didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?

The sentence jumbled together as if it was a single word. “A downstairs unit opened up at Gwen’s place, and she was able to switch her studio for a two bedroom. It’s a ton more space, a bigger kitchen, but she couldn’t afford the rent, so I split the lease with her.”

“When did that happen?”

“Two months ago.”

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. Two months? For two months Gwen had been living with a dude, and she didn’t have the decency to tell him? She didn’t tell him, did she? No, Arthur couldn’t remember a single text, email, or call mentioning Gwen moving in with a guy. He would have vetoed that shit right off the bat.

“So you and Gwen are friends?” Arthur said, making sure to overemphasize the last word.

“Yes.” Merlin exhaled. “I’m just a friend from school who needed a place to live.”

Arthur’s skin bristled. It would be one thing if the guy standing next to him were a troll. But Merlin was handsome, albeit in an unusual unprocessed sort-of way, the type of masculine attractiveness Arthur couldn’t quite put to words. 

In silence, they reached Gwen’s apartment, a modest building with brown shingles and a black medieval steel gate. Arthur wouldn’t go as far as to call the neighborhood ghetto, but it was borderline sketchy. He saw the change once they passed Telegraph Avenue, perfectly manicured lawns retreating into older homes with peeling paint and iron window bars. 

Merlin struggled with the gate until it clicked open. The inside of the apartment building was a hidden oasis. A lush common lawn in the center, and a BBQ pit shadowed by redwoods. Arthur was led to a corner unit with a small patio and potted plants dotting the front entrance. 

“This is the one,” Merlin said, then he unlocked the front door, unlacing his black Converse string by string.

“Gwen’s still gardening, I see.” Arthur replied.

“We just bought—I mean, Gwen thought succulents were the only plants that would stand a chance against me so we picked some up.”

Arthur was about to step inside when Merlin caught hold of his arm. “Take off your shoes, please,” he said lightly. “You’ll track mud on the floor.”

The unexpected contact prickled Arthur’s skin. He didn’t feel right-- not sick exactly-- tired, hungry for sure. He pulled off his Nike's and tossed them by the door. The living room was spacious but held little more than an IKEA couch and an old model television perched on a milk crate. The dining room was a similar deal: a metal patio table with three chairs, a poster, taped to the wall, displaying two dressed-up kittens smoking in a bathroom stall. The epitome of the ‘Starving artists’, Arthur thought with a chuckle.

He plopped himself down on the couch as if he had always lived there and asked, “When does Gwen get off work?”

“I’ll text her,” Merlin said, pulling his phone from his skinny jeans with some difficulty. “Go ahead and drop your stuff in her room, she won’t mind. It’s down the hall to the left.”

*

Gwen’s room looked just like her—flawless. It had the same prissy white furniture set, and the same bed they had tumbled in and out of together a hundred times, back in Indiana. Arthur sunk into the comforter, drawing it to his stubbly chin. It smelled like a bouquet of Downy laundry detergent with just a hint of coconut oil—the same oil Gwen would have Arthur rub on her skin before bed, as both moisturizer and enticement.

The walls were the trademark hospital white of cheap apartments, decorated with photos. Some were neatly framed, but most were crudely tacked clothing advertisements torn from fashion magazines, of sullen models photoshopped beyond reason.

Arthur was relieved to see Gwen had kept touches of their shared past, including a photo from senior prom. She looked like Cinderella in a sequined dress with gold jewelry glistening from her ears and throat, and he -- a per-hour prince charming in a sauvé rental suit.

Next to the prom picture she’d pinned something more recent, a Polaroid of her and Merlin. Gwen was in pink, duck-facing the camera, Merlin looking the shy puppy beside her in the exact color palette he was wearing today but with a wine scarf.

How many scarves did this Merlin guy own?

A head popped in the room. Speak of the devil, thought Arthur with a sigh.

“Gwen says she’ll be back in an hour and to start dinner without her. Hungry?” Merlin smiled.

“Famished.” And he was, Arthur’s stomach tying in knots. “They only served rabbit food on the flight.”

“I’m afraid you might have a similar problem at Chez Merlin. But I’ll do my best." 

Hm.

The door shut. Arthur laid his luggage on its side, found a clean shirt, tossing out a government inspection card with it. He always got checked; what about his underwear and toothbrush read terrorist? He’d have to ask Gwen later where she wanted him to stash his stuff. He’d have to ask her a lot of things.

Once he was dressed, Arthur opened the closet, just for a peek. He didn’t know what he expected to find in there. Skeletons? Written admissions of a sordid love affair with a certain new roommate? Something about Merlin still didn’t sit right with him. 

The closet was full of nothing but clothes and shoes, candy colored and painstakingly arranged.

He felt like a tool.

*

True to his word, the meal Merlin laid out on the dining room table looked like it was flown in from a third world country. He called to Arthur from the belly of the galley kitche.n 

“What would you like to drink? We have water, juice-“

“Do you have any beer?” Arthur asked.

“Corona OK?”

“It’ll do.”

Merlin came out of the kitchen with the bottle tucked under his arm, his striped sleeves rolled up to his elbows. As he flopped down into a seat at the table, pouring the amber liquid into a chilled glass, Arthur could make out the ebony lines of a tattoo. The work took up the underside of Merlin’s left forearm, a realistic black and white rendering of a pair of scissors.

“Sorry, no lemon wedges,” Merlin said, sliding the drink across the table to Arthur.

Arthur was hardly expecting lemons, let alone a chilled glass. He noticed casually that Merlin only brought the one beer and nothing for himself. The first sip was bliss as it hit Arthur’s tongue, exactly what he had needed six hours ago on the flight.

“Do you have any food allergies?” Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head.

“This is a vegan recipe,” Merlin said in between bites. “It calls for chicken stock, but I substitute with veggie and add almonds in for protein. The kalamata olives are what give it the extra flavor.”

“What is vegan, exactly?" Arthur groaned, poking the grainy concoction staring up at him with his fork. "The more extreme cult of the vegetarian?”

Merlin bit his lip, his for suspended in mid-air. “And what would you prefer to eat?” he asked mildly.

“Nothing, it’s--” Arthur searched for a polite excuse. “I’m used to a dinner you need to grill a little, if you know what I mean.”

“Like a steak?” Merlin said, raising his eyebrow. “Sorry, I don’t keep meat in the house. If you want steak you’re going to have to hunt it yourself.”

“Then it’s a good thing I know my way around a gun when the fifteenth of November rolls around.”

“The fifteenth?”

“Deer season,” Arthur said, peppering his food. “I'm a damn good shot. Landed a beautiful three-and-a-half year old buck last year that weighed in at one-eighty. My dad even had him mounted.”

“That’s disgusting.”

Arthur waved a hand over his plate. “Trust me, hunting deer is less disgusting than eating this.” 

Torches lit behind Merlin’s blue glass eyes, a half smile curling his lips. “If you’re such a sportsman, then certainly you can brave up a little and try what I’ve cooked?” he mused. “If you did, you might realize it’s not as bad as you think.”

There was a freshly competitive atmosphere at the table, and Arthur was more than game.

“Fine,” he said, separating his food into piles with his fork. “I’ll eat, but with conditions. I ask you a question, and you give me a simple, honest, answer. Do that and I’ll take a bite of this stuff. Fair?”

“Okay, but I hardly see what’s in it for--”

“Are you fucking my girlfriend, Merlin?”

Merlin froze, back straight, fair skin bleaching even further. He looked like a still frame in a Tim Burton movie. He took a moment to digest the accusation, flushed a brilliant scarlet and whispered, “Of course not.”

“It would be stupid to lie to me.”

“If you’re having issues with Gwen, I’m not the one you should be talking--“

“I just find it odd, Merlin, that you’re on such friendly terms with her. Living with together for two months without my--” 

Merlin slapped his napkin to the table. “I already told you, Gwen and I are just friends. If you’re having relationship problems, then you need to take it up with your girlfriend and keep me out of it. Enjoy your dinner, Arthur, order a pizza for all I care! I’ve lost my appetite.” 

The front door slammed, leaving Arthur alone in a new apartment, in a new state, and in complete silence. He shoveled a bite of lentils into his mouth. It was different, gritty and foreign to his taste buds, yet there was a potent mingling of flavor. He put his fork down. 

He wouldn’t say he was won over by the taste, but to his surprise he didn’t hate it. 

* 

Arthur found Merlin in the parking lot, squatting over an oil stain next to the rusted shell of a Toyota Camry. He was wrapped up like a cocoon in his black sweater; invisible in the darkness, save for the billowing cloud of his cigarette.

He heard Arthur’s footsteps, and exhaled a ring of smoke with an annoyed whistle.

“Mind if I join you?” Arthur asked.

“This is my last one,” Merlin said, flicking ash to the ground.

“It’s fine. I don’t smoke.”

“Do they only chew tobacco in Indiana?”

Why was it that the first defense of a Californian was always to attack the Midwest like it was full of backward hicks?

“Are vegans even allowed to smoke?” Arthur asked briskly, sliding beside Merlin against the car.“ Isn’t smoking counterintuitive to the whole being healthy thing?” 

“Counterintuitive?” Merlin’s voice was all seriousness, but a familiar grin had found its way back to him. “You sound like a business major.”

“My father would be pleased to hear that.”

“But yes,” Merlin agreed, taking another drag. “It’s a filthy habit. One I’m supposed to be quitting.”

“Then throw it away and stop tonight.”

Merlin's gaze struck fast like an arrow in its mark, making Arthur’s palms feel uncomfortably moist. They were unflinching pools, eyes that didn't pass over anything, but drank in what was set before them, giving Arthur the impression that this mundane conversation wasn’t as important as what was left unspoken.

Arthur swallowed. “Look, Merlin, I’m sorry about--“

“It’s cool,” Merlin said, warmth back in his words. “I don’t agree, but get it. It’s natural under the circumstances that you’d be suspicious, and I didn’t mean to spring that on you. Honestly, I’d assumed Gwen would have told you the roommate situation before you arrived.”

“You’re fine with a double roommate arrangement then?” Arthur asked.

“Sure. You’ll be paying $500 a month, what problem could I have with lessing my rent? I spend most of my weeknights in the studio anyway. You’ll have plenty of space, and when the apartment lease is up at the end of the year, you lovebirds can look for a cozy nest all your own.”

“You're a decent guy, Merlin,” Arthur said, not realizing he'd said it until it was too late. “Would you mind, you know, not mentioning any of this to Gwen?”

Merlin killed his cigarette under his heel. “I won’t if you promise not to cook meat on my stove. I don’t like the smell of it. If you’ve got to, use the barbecue outside, OK?”

Arthur nodded as Merlin rose to his feet, turning in the direction of the moonlit skeleton of the outside gate.

“I’m meeting a friend at Aroma Cafe tonight, shouldn't be there past midnight. Tell Gwen there’s a Tupperware of leftovers in the fridge for her. I know she’ll eat them.”

It was a not-so-subtle dig, acknowledged Arthur, but after how ungracious he had acted today—not entirely undeserved.

*

Merlin pushed open the café door; silver bells on its handle singing his arrival. The interior felt like home. Its rich adobe walls hung heavy with paintings, the air perfumed with a blunt mix of coffee grounds and orange zest.

He walked straight to the back, not bothering to glance at the colorful chalkboard menu, and greeted the nymph of a girl behind the counter with a solitary wave. She smiled, revealing a crooked canine and the glint of a tongue ring as she spoke.

“Merlin, are you my reinforcement tonight?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Freya,” Merlin replied, walking through a break in the counter to join Freya by the espresso machine. “I’m just passing by.”

“Why do you come here on your days off?” Freya asked, sloshing her mop into a muddied water bucket. “Don’t you get enough of this dump?”

“I’m meeting a friend, and I like to go where my drinks are free.” Merlin laughed. He let his fingers, as if retaining memory of their own, pluck ingredients hidden within the tiny coffee prep station. Merlin knew every inch of the cluttered space, from its shelf of chipped coffee cups to the stack of dishrags piled high above the dryer out back.

There was no glamor in Merlin’s part time job at Aroma Café, brewing coffee for the hung-over and caffeine-addicted citizens of the East Bay, but it helped pay the rent and like any job had its perks (particularly co-workers who didn’t think twice about letting Merlin have drinks on the house).

When Merlin’s hands finished their task, he was left with a silky concoction of flavors blended in a round-bellied pitcher. He screeched the espresso machine to life, cradling the bottom of the pitcher and tilting it until the liquid inside frothed.

“That’s all foam,” Freya observed. “It’ll have no taste.”

“I know,” Merlin said, pouring the weightless froth into a ceramic mug. “That’s how I like it.”

Freya shook her head with a small smile, the cloth tassels of her mop slapping as they hit the floor. With a light goodbye to Freya and a sip of his airy creation, Merlin stepped outside to look for his friend.

The exterior tables were deserted, Merlin’s only company at the moment a gang of moths worshiping the light above the trash can. With nobody nearby to complain, Merlin lit up and waited. He could smell Lance’s cologne before he saw him. Armani Code, if Merlin wasn’t mistaken.

Lance’s face bore the shadow of a frown, his blue polo shirt noticeably wrinkled as if he’d worn a jacket over it most of the day.

“You told me you were quitting,” Lance said, un-tucking a portfolio from under his arm. “I thought you meant it this time.”

Merlin looked down to his American Spirit, then back up to the moths. New players were joining in the courtship of the bulb, but they didn’t seem to be making headway, either.

“Unexpected setback,” Merlin replied. “How did your interview go?”

“I got the internship.”

“Lance, that’s great!”

“Thanks for the support, Mer, but it’s not impressive as you think,” Lance said, batting a moth from his face. He seated his portfolio on a chair, then pulled one out for himself. “I have a family friend who’s close with one of the project managers. The firm does mostly residential architecture projects, so it’s not what I was hoping for, but I have to start somewhere, right?”

Merlin tilted his chair back on its hind legs. “You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. Paying internships are hard to come by. Most of us poor art students have to take crappy jobs at places like, you know, coffee shops.”

“Fair enough,” Lance smiled, resting his elbows on the table. “Enjoying the last days of vacation before the tortures of junior year?”

Merlin’s chair thudded back to the ground. “I guess." He shrugged. "I picked up my new housemate today.”

“You mean Gwen’s boyfriend," Lance replied. "He’s finally here?”

“He has a name, you know.”

“Arthur, as if I’d forget. He was all Gwen talked about when we had dinner at Yoshi’s last week. Industrial design major, was it?"

Merlin nodded. He was well aware that Lance had a fat crush on Gwen, and couldn’t help but feel partially responsible for the man's suffering. He’d introduced Gwen and Lance sophomore year. After a flick of her hair, Lance had plunged like a lemming off a cliff for Gwen.

Ever since that day, Lance would ask Merlin questions about Gwen in an off-handed way, inviting her to any party however small, or make up parties, for that matter.

“So, what’s Mr. Perfect like?” Lance asked.

Merlin snuffed out his cigarette out in the glass ashtray and thought for a moment, dredging Arthur’s face from the depths of his memory, where he'd hidden it. The copper sheen of long bangs, blue eyes, not the deep brooding blue of his own, but a blue as clean as a running water. A body the Greeks would have set to marble. 

All this came to mind, but Merlin settled with, “Blond.”

“I know that,” Lance said, loosening the collar of his shirt. “I’ve seen his Facebook photos, they’re all so...“ He waved a hand in the air as if trying to summon the word.

“Abercrombie?” Merlin offered, hiding his blush behind a sip of his drink.

“Yes. But how’s the guy’s personality?”

“He’s cocky. We’ve had a fight already.” 

“I can’t imagine that. You’re so mellow.”

“He doesn't like my cooking,” Merlin said, putting his cigarette box back into his pocket. “That, and he thought I was sleeping with his girlfriend.”

Lance laughed, the force of it echoing into the empty street. “What? Doesn’t’ he know that you're practically celibate?”

“Ha-ha. Have a good laugh at my expense.”

“Come on, Mer, I'm not trying to rip on you, but you haven’t had a relationship since freshman year. Sometimes I worry.“

Merlin would have been livid if Lance weren’t dead-right. The last relationship he’d had was over a year ago; a fling with a boy name Will—a friend who since their schooldays had given Merlin the impression that he wanted to become more. It took a New Year’s Eve and four drinks for Will to get his wish, and within a month they were broken up, Merlin swearing to himself as he emptied every bottle of alcohol he owned into the toilet that he would never get wasted again.

“I didn’t realize my romantic life, or lack thereof, was so interesting to you,” Merlin said, returning his empty mug to a tub above the trashcan. “If anything changes, you’ll be the first to know, but don’t get your hopes up. At present, I'm engaged to my Juki industrial sewing machine and he’s very high-maintenance.”

“All work and no play,“ Lance teased.

“Gets Merlin straight A’s,” Merlin quipped. “Can I get you something to drink? We still haven’t celebrated your new internship.”

“I could go for coffee, thanks.”

Merlin stood by the trashcan, waiting. He knew what was coming, but couldn’t stifle a sigh as he heard Lance say exactly what he was expecting.

“I’d hoped this Arthur guy wouldn’t last,” Lance sighed, his expression grim. “That he was a leftover High school crush Gwen would work out of her system.”

“I should’ve guessed you’d have ulterior motives when you suggested coffee. You know, Lance, they make restraining orders for people like you.”

“Trust me, I’m trying to get over her, Scout's honor. But the more I tell myself not to think about Gwen, the worse it gets.”

Above Merlin’s head the moths pounded the tinted light, the powder of their wings dusting the night as they flew. Merlin plucked at the air, catching one of the insects in his hand. He could feel it quiver there, trapped against his palm, the velvet movement of its wings frantic, like a beating of a tiny heart.

“You and these moths,” Merlin said, uncurling his fingers so that the moth perched ornamented on his knuckle. With a shake of his hand, it flew back to its mission. “Why not give it up?”

“Some people are worth the suffering.” Lance smiled, looking at the yellow sliver of moon that hung low on the skyline. “I can’t explain it to you, Merlin. You’ll understand, one day, if you’re lucky.”

The words gave Merlin a sickness he couldn’t shake. “If you’re talking about love,” he groaned, visions of Arthur still swimming laps in his mind, “Don’t waste your time, Lance. It’s not for me.”

*

Gwen staggered in the apartment at quarter to nine. Spying Arthur at the kitchen table, she ditched her purse and jumped him with a tackle that would make an offensive lineman proud.

“Arthur,” she squealed, straddling Arthur’s lap. “You're here! You look good, but how do you feel? Are you half-dead?”

“Zombified.” Arthur yawned, stretching out his legs. “Totally exhausted.”

She barraged him with kisses, throwing her oversized Gap sweatshirt across the room as if it were poisoned. “I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a drink. Will you join me?”

Arthur nodded, and Gwen jumped off his lap. She walked into the kitchen, taking her time before coming back with two coffee mugs full of red wine.

“This is for tonight. It was meant to celebrate us, though I’m not sure you deserve it. I texted you all day and I couldn’t get through, and now I see you stole the Corona I was saving? Very naughty, Mr. Pendragon.

Arthur wrapped a hand around the half moon of Gwen’s waist, tickling her as she handed him his mug. He’d almost forgotten how tiny she was—how easily his arms encircled her.

“I regret nothing. And for the record, it was your roommate who offered me the Corona.”

“How dare Merlin,” Gwen smiled. “We have rules in this house about stealing. Where is he, anyway? Did he head out for the night?”

Arthur thought back to the driveway, the circles of smoke and the lips that so effortlessly formed them. He cleared his throat. “Some place called Aroma. There’s a Tupperware of leftovers, do you want me to heat them up for you?”

“That’d be great! My feet are killing me.”

Letting his hands fall from Gwen’s waist, Arthur walked into the kitchen. When he opened the fridge, he found it full of more greenery than a meadow in springtime—a vegetarian paradise.

“I take it Merlin does most of the cooking?” Arthur exhaled.

“Yep.”

“And you’re cool with that?" 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’ve heard a terrible rumor that he’s a vegan.”

“You know me,” Gwen said, tossing her hair back. “I’d never give up cheese, but I compromised at lenient Vegetarian. Actually, I’ve lost a few pounds already.”

Arthur popped the food into microwave, set it for two minutes, and came back to Gwen. “How West Coast of you. Apparently there's a lot you’ve been hiding from me, Guinevere.”

Gwen took a sip of wine from her Garfield mug. “Cryptic much?”

“For starters, couldn’t you have mentioned before I’d packed up my life and flown across the state that you’re living with circa 1980 Morrissey?“

“Morrissey?” I don’t see it; Merlin’s cuter than him. And since when do you listen to The Smiths?”

Arthur hadn’t realized the extent of his anger. The more he thought about the predicament at hand, the more his blood boiled, the childish part of him wanting to make Gwen pay for what she'd hidden.

“Don’t change the subject,” he demanded. “I thought me moving up here meant living alone, just the two of us. That the point was to be our own as a couple, not to share an apartment with some weird—“

“It wasn’t realistic, Arthur. The rent here is crazy! Yes, I get it; I should’ve told you about the roommate situation before you came. But you’re here now, you’re free, so just let it go. Trust me, you don’t have to worry about Merlin." 

Arthur trudged back into the kitchen, relishing the excuse not to look at Gwen. He pulled out the Tupperware from the microwave, yanking open drawers until he found the one hiding the silverware.

“Why? Does he have a girlfriend?” he asked, sliding Gwen’s food in front of her.

“All the girls in the fashion department—except me, of course, can’t get enough of Merlin. But no. He’s never dated any of them. And he’s never even brought anyone home.”

“Wait, Merlin's in fashion with you? Are you telling me he’s a queer?”

“First off, there are a ton of straight male designers in the industry! Ralph Lauren, Calvin Klein, Yohji Yamamoto, to name a few. And second,” Gwen snapped, picking up her fork. “I hate it when you use that word. You’re being derogatory, and you won’t say that in this apartment again. Ever.”

Finally it all made sense—the reason Gwen had hidden having a roommate, conveniently forgetting to tell Arthur about Merlin for two months.

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “Unbelievable. Damn it, Gwen. You know how I feel about that lifestyle. It’s not…normal.”

The words could have been plucked from his father’s own mouth. Arthur's father, who only months ago, when Arthur told him what school he wanted to attend, had lectured him from the leather throne of his Lazy Boy chair.

“The California College Of The Arts, San Francisco?” Uther had spat, Arthur’s letter of acceptance to CCAC clutched in his hairy hands. “You think I’m paying for my son to go to some faggot school?”

It had taken Arthur a month to convince his father that in fact, not everyone in San Francisco were homosexual, and that the school was a dual campus—one building in Oakland, another in San Francisco—and he would be living in Oakland. This seemed to please Uther, or at least loosen him up enough to have a discussion. And once Arthur told him his plans to move in with his girlfriend, the old man was finally willing to write a check to the school and agree on the amount for Arthur’s living stipend. His father would never understand his son's desire to move to a city with such a liberal reputation, but apparently skirt chasing was something Uther sympathized with.

Gwen slammed her fork down, rousing Arthur from his thoughts. Her dark eyes were rich were with rage, but even angry, she had a determined aura about her; Gwen, his modern Joan of Arc.

“Being gay isn’t a lifestyle choice. It’s the way some people are born, and I don’t even know for certain if Merlin is. It’s not like I’ve gone up and asked him!”

“How can you say it’s not a choice?" Arthur replied curtly. "Who you sleep with is as much a choice as what clothes you put on in the morning or what you—”

“Oh come off it. By that crappy logic I could deduce that you and I just chose to be straight one day?”

Arthur's voice caught in his throat. “And what am I supposed to do if he starts hitting on me?" Have you considered that?”

“Give me a break. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Arthur Pendragon, but you are not as irresistible as you think you are.”

Arthur leaned over and kissed Gwen’s cheek as she chewed. “Fine. Whatever. It’s done. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. It’s killing my mood.”

“Does this mean you’re staying?”

Arthur nodded, sitting down in the chair next to Gwen. “I can’t believe the crap I put up with for you.”

“You’ll have to be nice, OK?”

He crept his fingers up her thigh, pausing at the hem of her skirt. “I’ll show you how nice I can be—“

“Stop it, brute.” She chuckled, slapping his hand away. “And finish your wine.”

“It’s not beer.”

“You’ll be a fan. I’ll take you wine tasting up in Napa, make a real Californian of you yet.”

“That’ll be the day,” Arthur mumbled. He leaned over, rested his head on Gwen's shoulder.

Through the strands of her hair he saw the front door, a thought tugging at him. “What’s the roommate etiquette in this apartment? Can we finish the bottle or do we have to save what’s-his-face a glass?’

“Merlin doesn’t drink,” Gwen breathed. She ignored the rest of her meal, shook Arthur’s head off her and turned to face him, slowly unbuttoning the front of Arthur's shirt.

“Doesn’t drink, doesn’t drive, doesn’t eat real food, doesn’t have sex with women. What does Merlin do?” Arthur asked, relaxing in his chair. “Besides smoke?”

“He’s the top student in the fashion department; everything he makes is magic,” Gwen replied, freeing the last of Arthur's shirt buttons. Her acrylic nails played with the sculpted lines of his chest, her mouth kissing ridges of muscle before she moved her attentions lower, to his brass belt buckle. “But I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” she parroted. “It’s killing my mood.”

*

Arthur’s first week in California had him feeling like a seasick voyager, fresh on land and gathering his bearings. The city of Oakland was gritty, colorful, and loud with life. He was beginning to learn through experience which neighborhoods had pleasant streets to jog through, and which, with their graffiti threats, were best avoided altogether.

He took to exercising while when Gwen was at work, and when she came home they made up for lost time. They made love. Streamed episodes of “The Walking Dead” (Arthur joking that if a zombie apocalypse did arrive, he’d be more than capable of defending and repopulating the world himself), snuggling into one another, and when the episode had finished, made love again.

He took Gwen’s Honda in for an oil change (reprimanding her for not having it done so in a year), and last but not least bought an easel, masking tape, and a large canvas tarp, so that by the end of Thursday night Arthur had constructed a small but functional painting studio in the corner of the living room.

To Arthur's relief, he saw little of his new roommate that first week. The only conversation he'd had with Merlin since their awkward first night together was an occasional goodbye as he slipped out the door. However, there will still signs that Merlin was about. The steamy fog trail left from the long showers Merlin took in the morning, glimpses of him slipping into his room, dressed only in underwear and a loose fitting tees. And, of course, the Tupperware containers of leftover hippie meals in the fridge.

By the start of his classes on Monday, Arthur was happy for a change of pace. Being a transfer student with community college units under his belt meant skipping most of his humanities and sciences classes, and going straight into the bulk of his major requirements.

The CCAC building was a designer’s wet dream, built with massive steel beams and glass curving into white walls. The design studios were equipped above and beyond Arthur's expectations, his teachers accomplished in their fields, but without the ego that plagued so many artists. It was as if for once in his life all that Arthur desired was falling neatly into place. 

Then he had to go and fuck it up by getting iced coffee.

*

The pleasure of accomplishment came to Arthur with each gulp of air, and each extension of his already burning calf muscles. He ran down the uniform sidewalk; sweat dripping from every pore, pooling the collar of his shirt. He stopped at stop sign at the corner, whipping his melting face against his arm and shaking moisture out of his hair. The sun hung low in the sky, so orange and ripe that Arthur imagined plucking it and taking a bite as if it were a fruit.

He opened his water bottle instead, sucking down the last measly droplets, but his throat was still roasting.

Arthur turned to his right, taking in the chipped glass windows of a storefront and a cracked concrete driveway. A mechanic shop. He’d have no luck getting something to drink there. The left seemed promising: A boutique, and a building with a weathered sandwich board out front. Aroma Café, it read. Hadn't he heard that name before?

The café door handle jingled like Santa’s sleigh as Arthur entered. It was a quaint little place; the coloring rich and earthy.

He walked up to the counter, plucked out his earbuds, put his iTunes app on pause, and said, “I’ll have an iced—" 

There was a glint of metal. A pitcher spun in air, crashing to the tile, liquid spraying in all directions. The barista swore under his breath. Arthur watched with startled amusement as the man leaned down, his face splattered with water, cheeks red with embarrassment.

“Merlin? You work here?” Arthur asked, much louder then he had realized.

Merlin nodded, wiping his face off on his apron. “A few days a week,” he replied sheepishly. “I’m so sorry, did I spill that on you? Can I get you a towel?”

Arthur startled. Who, me? No I’m just wet with my own reeking sweat, he thought to himself. He decided to own it, cracking his neck as he said coolly, “No. I'm fine, just been jogging. It’s part of my workout routine, an hour a day. I don’t usually go this route."

Arthur noticed Merlin wasn’t looking at his eyes anymore, but he was certainly inspecting everything else.

“You wanted, an…iced coffee?” Merlin stammered.

Arthur let a thin smile touch lips as he caught Merlin staring. He'd made a grown man blush—a first. “How much do I owe you?“ he asked, pulling his wallet slowly from his shorts.

“On the house,” Merlin replied, turning away again. “Sit wherever you like, I’ll bring the coffee out when it’s done.”

Merlin busied himself in front of a stainless steel fridge, their conversation obviously over. From behind the counter a pretty chocolate haired girl had brought a mop to clean the mess. As Arthur walked away, seating himself at a chair by the window, he could just make out her voice over the slosh of mopping.

“That guy is gorgeous, and so checking you out,” she whispered to Merlin. “Tell me you’re going to at least ask for his number?”

Merlin went rigid, his eyes pleading for silence. He shot a paniced look at Arthur, who had put his ear buds back in, pretending to listen to his music. It seemed to be enough to convince Merlin that Arthur couldn’t hear their conversation. 

“Keep it down Freya, that’s my roommate, okay?” he whispered back.

The girl, Freya, laughed as she said, “I think I know which room he’s been sleeping in.”

“You mean his girlfriend’s room, the one I share the house with,” Merlin snapped.

Freya’s face dropped. “Oh,” she replied, sneaking a puzzled look towards Arthur. “Right.”

Merlin ignored her, mixing the ice and coffee and popping on a plastic lid. He slid out from behind the counter and walked cautiously up to Arthur’s table. 

Arthur waited, hearing Merlin’s footsteps through his silent ear buds, but pretending otherwise. 

Merlin cleared his throat. He tapped his foot on the ground, and with a childish shyness stuttered, “Um, I...that is...your drink’s done.”

Arthur took out his earbuds for a second time, flashed his patented panty-dropping smile, and said, “You’re stuttering, Merlin. Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes—no—of course not!” Merlin sputtered, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he spoke. “I am working you know, so um, well, Just come up to the counter if you need anything.”

Bothering Merlin was proving an enjoyable pastime, Arthur thought wickedly. From his jumpy reactions at Arthur's workout gear, to the hushed conversations he’d had with his co-worker, there was no question in Arthur’s mind that Merlin was gay, or at the very least bi. And if Arthur wasn’t mistaken, Merlin was a little enamored by him.

Of course Arthur would never reciprocate, but at the very least couldn’t he test the power he had over Merlin? Toy with him a bit?

“Anything?” Arthur asked suggestively.

Arthur knew women, was used to the adoration of school girls who’d hidden over a mere glimpse of his handsome face. Merlin may have been embarrassed, but he was hardly the hapless school girl. Merlin's cheeks were red, but he stood firm. He crossed his arms; looked Arthur straight and the eye and said in a silken voice, “Try me.” 

Damn it. Too far.

All of a sudden, Arthur was back in high school gym class, looking down a long colorless wall of tile, to the silver shower heads curved up like snakes in the men’s locker room. He was re-living feelings that had cornered him every time he’d set foot inside, sensations he had written off as a lingering adrenaline rush after a game. Sensations he had shut down, fought, and strangled at all costs until he could quench the feelings later with a girl and an hour-long screw.

Arthur tried desperately to shake the growing desire from his body, but it was firmer than his resolve. The control he’d reveled in only minutes ago stripped from him. What the hell was this? He was Arthur Pendragon, flirter extraordinaire! Was he really going to be so affected by a good-looking gay boy with an affinity for scarves?

Merlin was still beside him, his tall figure backlit, a grin sitting beautifully on the bows of a closed mouth.

Oh god that mouth...

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well,” he coughed. “A to-go cup. Perfect. See you around,”

He turned tail before Merlin had a chance to speak again, the door of the café slamming, bells shouting after Arthur. Every ounce of him wanted to wipe the stupid grin off Merlin’s face, to punish him in a slow and delicious fashion for making him feel so bothered. So vulnerable. But instead, Arthur ran full force back to the apartment, back to Gwen, until he was certain that Merlin's ridiculous smile was far behind him. 

*

Gwen looked like a nymph, her cheeks ripe as blossoms, golden body sinking into the white sheets. Arthur watched the falling of her ribcage, each breath pulling in and out like the tide.

“Arthur that was—wow,” Gwen exhaled.

Arthur smiled, melting into a pillow beside her, already half asleep in a room that was so quiet and so clean, a person could mistake it for heaven.

See, he told himself, everything is fine. What you felt before, that was the anomaly. What is Merlin to you but a passing fancy? A light flirtation at worst, but this—Arthur stared into Gwen’s face for reassurance. Her amber eyes, ruby lips. This is real. Normal. It’s where you belong.

He thought it over, and over, and over again, until he began to believe it.


	2. Part 2

How Gwen had managed to run in three-inch heels without breaking an ankle, Merlin couldn’t say, but she was at his side in the school cafeteria, panting from the exertion. 

Her cream dress billowed around her knees with each pass of the standing fan in the corner.  Merlin had just finished ordering two teas, his eyelids heavy from the hours of sleep insomnia had stolen from him this week. He gave Gwen a wink as he grabbed the drinks off the counter, handing her one.

“What do I owe you?“ Gwen asked, pushing a red straw in the opening at the top of her cup.

“Forget it," Merlin replied. "You bought the last time.”

Gwen nodded, linking Merlin’s arm and hustling him into the hallway. It was eight a.m., the school flooding with groggy students. A few of them, it appeared, had never even left, their limp bodies crammed on the couches near the library, dead asleep. 

Merlin and Gwen walked passed the sleeping students quietly as possible, funneling through a long concrete hallway hung with student work displays.

“Guess what’s been posted on the fashion bulletin board?” Gwen asked as she opened the door to the fashion design studio.

The room was dark as pitch, too early for even the teacher to be in. Merlin flipped on the light switch, the neon glow illuminating rows of motionless dress forms. The studio had a chalky smell to it, gained from years of accumulating dust from tailor's chalk and fabric cuttings.

Merlin secured one of the taller stools for himself, screeching it up to a giant work table.

“Dunno. Pictures from Kat’s birthday party last week?” he asked, pulling his paper patterns off a hanging rack at the back of the classroom. “I left early that night. Was she ever able to get all that chocolate out of the inflatable swimming pool?”

“Even better,” Gwen replied. “It’s the info on this year's Art Of Fashion Foundation competition. You’re entering, aren't you?”

Merlin shot her a grin, and replied with fained, “Maybe”

“Oh, shut up. Let me guess, you already knew?” She chuckled, putting her tea on the table beside Merlin.

Merlin’s grin grew wider. “Yep. I’ve been stalking the AOFF website for months.”

“You know what the prize this year is?”

“A trip to Paris. And a four week design technique workshop at the Louvre, no less. Just imagine it: couture capital of the world! Tell me you’re going to enter, too?”

“Either that or looking for an internship.” Gwen sighed. “Have you done any sketching yet, Merlin?”

Had he started sketching? Merlin thought, warming his throat with a tidal wave of green tea.  Only every second I’m not working .

He had holed up in his room each evening for a month, staying up till three in the morning brainstorming for the competition. It had been exactly what Merlin needed—a goal. A project he could throw himself into to remedy the distraction he’d been feeling lately, distraction that came in the form of a certain handsome roommate, who just happened to be his good friend’s boyfriend.

Merlin rifled through his lumpy satchel and pulled out his sketchbook, passing it to Gwen. She dove into the book hungrily, teeth catching her lower lip as she studied the painted bodies of Merlin's male fashion croquis.

“Merlin, I love it.” Gwen whispered, her fingers tracing the lines of the gauche work. “The layered pocketing, the contrast lining and faux leather details on the coat. Her face fell. “Only you would be crazy enough to think of making a coat!”

Merlin laughed. “Tailoring is a blast. All that steaming and pressing.”

Gwen clapped the sketchbook book shut. “Well, I’ve decided, the internship it is. There is no way I’m competing with this, Merlin. This outfit is going to be unstoppable in your hands.”

“I don’t know...”

“Oh come on, Mer, drop the false modesty.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. I’ve only been sketching menswear pieces, and you know we only have one male dress form in the fashion studio.”

“And it’s way too big for runway work,” Gwen responded quickly.

“Exactly. I’ll have to scrape enough money together to buy a dress form, which will be hard enough, not to mention finding the right fit model to perfect my muslin mock-ups on.”

Their fellow fashion students trickled into the classroom, wheeling squeaking dress forms to the community tables and clambering for decent seats. 

Gwen ducked a passing stool held by a snotty looking redhead and said, “The fit model part seems manageable enough.”

“I suppose.” It was then Merlin spied their teacher, Barbara, slipping in through the side door, a wiry older woman with a short stature and even shorter temper. She glared at the chatting students, wearing the same flat expression she always had on weekday mornings.

Merlin sighed. “Worst case scenario, I guess I can fit on myself?“

“You’re too skinny, sweetie—Wait—I know,” Gwen shouted, her eyes lighting up. “We can ask Arthur!”

Merlin wrinkled his nose as if she’d thrown a dead fish in front of him. “You’re  joking , right?”

“Why not? It’s the perfect solution. He’s always hanging around the house, and it's not like there’s anyone else in the department you can work on, seeing as you're the only guy in our class. I’ve bought clothing for Arthur for Christmas, I know his measurements. Trust me Merlin, he’ll be perfect.”

Voices dropped around them, Merlin sensing that class would begin at any moment. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he whispered.

“And what will you do instead?”

“I’ll ask Lance to help me.”

“So you’re willing to have a your competition piece walk the runway short? Lance is well built, but there’s no way he is tall enough for runway.“

“I’ve always been a fan of flood pants.” Merlin smiled.

“I’ll ask Arthur for you, you won’t even need to do it.”

“Gwen, how do I put this tactfully,” Merlin said, scratching his forehead. “I don’t think I’m Arthur’s favorite person.”

“Well, he loves me,” Gwen replied, opening up her pattern book. “Never underestimate the persuasive power of a woman, Merlin. If I say Arthur's doing it, it’s a done deal.”

*

Arthur gripped the charcoal in his hand and flipped to a fresh page of newsprint. He had six minutes until the next pose of the nude model in front of them, and he was intent on capturing the bend of the elderly lady's spine perfectly. He clenched his jaw; letting the folds of flesh come to life through his line work.

“And just how long will I have to play dress up for that black haired ghost?” he asked Gwen dryly.

“A few months,” Gwen replied, smudging her newsprint with a tacky eraser. “Long enough for Merlin to get the fit of his garment right. My guess is a few fittings at the start of the pieces, and a final fitting before Merlin enters his work in the Arts Of Fashion Foundation’ competition.”

“And why do you think I’d agree to that?”

“Because you want to continue to get laid.” Gwen smiled sweetly.

Despite going to the same school, Body In Motion was the only class Arthur shared with Gwen, a class he looked forward to every week. Drawing was one of only things in his life that tempered Arthur’s restless mind—besides exercise and sex. Normally, spending time with Gwen was the high point of his Wednesdays, but today’s conversation was poisoning it for him.

Arthur turned to his right, distracted by an off-key humming. Gwaine, an acquaintance from Arthur's industrial design class, was listening to his cellphone full-blast. He mumbled with relaxed idiocy, his charcoal strokes rolling in time with his music like he was painting a living room, not capturing the essence of a human being. 

Arthur had to admit, stoned or not, Gwaine could draw.

Arthur tried not to compare his work to others; it was pointless. Each person had his or her own style and art is as subjective as, say, infatuations. Still, he couldn't help but notice how slowly he moved today in relation to his classmates; even Gwen was outpacing him. He stroked the belly of the paper, letting the chalky substance take over, smudging here and there for the musculature of the thighs and subtracting the light with his eraser.

Arthur finally sighed, steadying his hand. “With a threat like that, how can I refuse?” 

“Arthur, you're an angel. You have no idea how much Merlin will appreciate this!”  Gwen said, patting him on the leg with a dust-covered hand. “I’ll tell Merlin you’ll be in for a fitting next Monday at seven.”

Arthur grunted something inane. He couldn’t focus, and it wasn’t just the power rifts oozing from Gwaine’s phone bothering him. His mind was rich with daydreams of his month spent in California, but one image in particular stood out. That image was Merlin from the other morning, heating up soy milk over the stove at seven am, all of him damp from a morning shower, his shirt hanging loosely over his shoulders. It was the way Merlin sprinkled cocoa powder and cinnamon into the bubbling pot, how delicious the house had smelled, and how the brew had tasted rich and oh-so-sweet against Arthur's tongue.

Was it the ingredients? The organic cocoa powder? Or was it simply because it was  Merlin who had made it for him?

Merlin. Arthur’s subconscious crooned.  Now that's someone worth drawing naked...

Arthur dropped his charcoal, excusing himself from the classroom. Halfway to the bathroom he spotted his fear through the windows of the fashion studio. Merlin was an island in a sea of women, dressed in black skinny jeans and a gaudy scarf, pin held suggestively between his lips. To Arthur’s relief, Merlin was too busy studying a draped dress form to notice him at the window, standing with his hands in his pockets.

To notice that Arthur couldn’t stop staring.

Come Monday, that dress form will be me , Arthur thought with sudden apprehension, his throat tightened.

What was he getting himself into?

*

The apartment bathroom was no larger than a closet but felt more like a clown car weekday mornings. Every morning the roommates vied for their space in front of the one large mirror the apartment held. This Friday in particular, the competition proved especially brutal. 

Merlin had the strange advantage of never sleeping, which meant he was normally the first person in the bathroom, but Gwen was competitive; Arthur knew that well. They both had winning track careers in their high school days, and were used to competing with each other both on and off the field. 

Arthur guessed it was the crowding of Gwen’s elbows rather than her smooth talk that convinced Merlin to share his space at the mirror with her.

“So, Arthur, are you excited about your gallery opening tonight?” Gwen asked, emptying a can of hairspray into the room, which caused poor Merlin to cough uncontrollably.

“You can’t call it  my gallery opening when I’ve only got one painting in the show,” Arthur called from the doorway. He'd taken jab in the eye with Gwen’s toothbrush minutes before, and retreated to a safe space outside.

“Fine. But it’s your first public exhibit of your paintings, aren’t you even a  little  nervous?”

“No,” Arthur said calmly. “It’s a tiny open gallery in downtown Oakland, all student work. There will be ten galleries exhibiting tonight within a block of each other, so the chance of having anyone notice my piece is slim. Besides, painting is just a hobby. I only got in the show because Gwaine hooked me up.”

“Well, at least you’ll have three supportive Pendragon fans,” Gwen quipped.

“Three?”

“Mmm hmm. Merlin’s coming.”

Arthur's mouth twitched. “Will my humiliation know no end?”

“And he’s bringing a friend.”

“Wait. Merlin has friends?” Arthur replied in mock shock. “Are we talking real or imaginary?”

Merlin nicked his chin with his razor, inhaling sharply. “I happen to be  in the room, you two,” he said, unrolling a square of toilet paper and pressing it to skin. “And my friends more real than any of your non-existant friends, Arthur. I’ll introduce you, but only if you’re on your best behavior.”

To this Arthur replied with a hearty burp.

Merlin splashed himself with water, kissed Gwen on the cheek as he left and said briskly, “Better yet, Arthur, pretend to be someone else on their best behavior. I can’t trust your manners.”

“So, I’ll see you at studio tonight, Mer?” Gwen laughed. “Remember, I don’t get out of Cubism Theory until eight."

“No worries, I’ll ask that caveman over there to help me grab dinner. If he doesn’t forget. We can all picnic in the fashion studio and take BART to the gallery together.”

“ I happen to be in the room, you two ,“ Arthur snarked. “And unlike a Neanderthal, I can work a phone. Text me a reminder about dinner and I’ll help. I wouldn’t want you spraining your delicate wrists carrying those heavy plastic bags.”

As soon as Merlin was back in his room, Gwen turned to Arthur and said, “Honestly, the way you go at it I think you  enjoy fighting with Merlin.”

Arthur stepped inside the bathroom. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, biting down on his toothbrush until foam dribbled down his chin. "There is  nothing I enjoy about Merlin.”

*

“You’ve no idea what’s in that,” Merlin said, avoiding the tin foil wrapped burrito in Arthur’s hand.

Sunset unfolded behind them, peeking over the crumbling brick warehouses that flanked their route back to school. Unlike the Oakland branch of the campus, the CCAC building in San Francisco sat in-between a strange mix of historic and modern.

It was a beacon of a building, hidden within a decaying industrial row. Granted, it wasn’t the most convenient location for a school, but good cheap meals could be found nearby if one knew where to look. 

Merlin had suggested walking five blocks to the Rainbow Grocery to pick up their dinner, a supermarket run entirely off solar power and stocked floor to ceiling with kale chips. It was favorite haunt of Merlin's, but Arthur, having gone with Gwen once before, declared it a  hemp-infested hell , flat out refused to go but willing to compromise at the taco truck parked across the street.

“How can you eat that thing?” Merlin continued, carrying two tofu rice crust pot pies for him and Gwen in a brown paper bag. “For all you know they could use roadkill, or rat meat.“

“ Mer -lin,” Arthur replied between heaping swallows. “It’s a fucking burrito. It’s not going to kill me any faster then your mindless talking.”

“Maybe it won’t kill you, but it'll make you fat. Aren’t you going to wait until we meet Gwen before you start eating?”

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. “Did you just call me fat?”

"No.” Merlin smiled. “But you will be if you keep eating that garbage.”

"Say that again, twig,” he said, waving his burrito as threateningly as a weapon. “I  dare you.”

An open roofed Jeep barreled up the street, its bass blasting. Arthur had enough time to cringe at the thundering music before the driver hurled a beer can at Merlin’s head, the contents exploding on impact. 

Merlin grabbed his temple, swaying, staring in disbelief at his soaked clothing and the red tears of blood dripping down his forehead.

“Awesome, you hit the fag!” a passenger yelled from the backseat as the car zoomed past.

And Arthur—ran.

He caught up easily with the Jeep a block away, stopped at a red light intersection. Yelling a battle cry of, “Fuck you, assholes!” Arthur chucked his half-eaten burrito through the open window. 

It was a perfect hit, the driver howling as he was pelted with steaming mystery-meat, black beans, and rice that sprayed over his unsuspecting accomplices. The men swore and grabbed the car door handles, jumping ship.

Arthur bolted, running faster than he had in any of his school sports meets.

“Head for the BART!” he yelled at Merlin, who was still staring dumbfounded a block ahead of him.

Speared on by Arthur’s shouts, they ran like their lives depended on it, though it was possible that they actually  did .

They swiveled around old ladies, jumping puddles of sidewalk ooze, all the while hearing death threats spewed from their angry pursuers. When Merlin started to slow, Arthur caught him, dragging him to the Sixteenth and Mission station entrance. 

They clambered down the steps, Arthur clearing the train tollbooth in a leap. Merlin looked exhausted, but roused himself enough to clumsily mimic his athletic companion. Bounding down the escalator, they pushed through the commuter crowd and into the open arms of a waiting Pittsburg Bay point bound train.

The door closed on Merlin. He let out a cry of surprise, orphaning his pot pies on the other side of the platform. With a grunt, Arthur wedged the door open enough for Merlin to regain his arm, but not his dinner. One blaring beep and the door was closed for good, the train departing the station right as the group of goons descended the escalator.

*

A woman with a pushcart clicked in Merlin and Arthur's general direction, shuffling to the back of the packed train car. Businessmen grumbled at them, averting their eyes. What a pair they must look, thought Arthur. Him dripping with sweat, chest heaving, and Merlin drenched and reeking of cheap beer. 

Streams of blood still trickled down Merlin's forehead. Arthur felt his stomach leap, his hand drawing closer to Merlin’s head.

“Merlin, are you—“

“I can’t believe you, Arthur!” Merlin snapped, still fighting for his breath. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was! They could have caught up to us!”

Arthur recognized instantly that Merlin wasn’t angry at him. He was.... worried? No, worried wouldn’t begin to describe it. Merlin was whiter than paper, and so wobbly he could barely stand. Merlin was  terrified .

Arthur drew closer, blocking the view of curious passengers.  “Merlin,” he whispered. “Calm down, it’s all right.”

“No, it's not!” Merlin choked, eyes clouding, tears spilling down his cheeks. “You’ve no idea! None at all! This isn’t simple-town Indiana, okay? This is the Mission District, Arthur; those guys could have been in a gang! They could have had guns! For god’s sake you could have been shot—“

“—And what was the alternative?” Arthur asked, yanking Merlin’s hand away from his face to stare at the cut on his head. “Did you hear what they called you? For god’s sake, Merlin, you’re  bleeding .”

Merlin brought his hand back up to the injury, touching it as if he'd forgotten it was there. 

“S’not so bad,” he said softly. “It’s not the first time something like this has happened. You should have let it go. I don’t think I even need stitches.” He wiped his arm across his forehead, staining his scissor tattoo a sticky red that gave it the appearance of an accessory to murder.

Arthur paled. “What do you mean,  not the first time ?”

The tips of Merlin’s ears reddened, and he looked down at the mess on his shirt. “I’ve been dealing with stuff like this for years. A full beer can though, that’s a first. I really wish I’d worn a different outfit. I’m not sure all this will bleach out.”

“If anyone ever hurts you, ever, they’re a dead man,” Arthur declared, his hands clenching into fists at his side. “No one has the right to harass you like that. Even if you are—” 

The crimson in Merlin’s ears rushed to his face. 

Arthur swallowed. “Come on, though, wasn’t it awesome to see that trio of dip-shits caked in rat meat?”

The sides of Merlin’s lips curled. “I think one guy had cheese in his ear.”

Arthur shifted on his heels. Not knowing what to do next, he settled with giving Merlin a manly pat on the back. “Looks like we're headed to Oakland now whether we like it or not. I’ll text Gwen and have her meet us at the gallery, then we’ll get you something to eat—“ He paused for a moment, laughing with devilish satisfaction. “And me as well, I guess. Since I lost my burrito.”

*

They got off at Lake Merritt station, Merlin recommending a restaurant on the main street. Gregoire's was a fairy tale amongst the shapeless concrete stores, a gingerbread Victorian, with a tangle of vines spilling from its window boxes. 

A quick glance at the menu taped in the window let Arthur know that it served real food, as well as the rabbit food Merlin preferred.

A hostess ushered Merlin and Arthur inside, but instead of seating them in the active main floor, she veered off the busy dining area and into a dark, unoccupied part of the restaurant.

“She’s hiding us,” Arthur said, opening up his menu with amusement.

“Can you blame her?” Merlin replied.

Arthur briefly assessed his companion’s clothing. Merlin's shirt was no longer sopping, but that hardly made a difference. The fabric had hardened swampy brown from the beer stains, the front peppered with a dark splattering of blood. 

“Red is not your color, Merlin," Arthur said. "If you don’t change soon people will start starring.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Merlin replied, glancing around the restaurant. “I’ll go home and change before the show. Or buy a new shirt.“

“Forget that. Come here.” Arthur put down his menu herding Merlin to back of the restaurant. He looked for the bathroom sign, found it, and pushed Merlin into the single-stall men's room.

The lights flickered, revealing floral wallpaper and Merlin’s blanched face in the mirror. 

“I don’t need to go,” Merlin replied in confusion.

“What are you, five? This isn’t a potty break," Arthur said gently, locking the door for good measure. "Take that shirt off.”

Merlin blinked. “Here? But I don't’ have a—”

“Like Shia Labeouf says— just do it .”

Merlin’s embarrassment at undressing was adorable, and Arthur couldn’t help but flush at seeing him strip. Underneath the designer labels and thrift store scarves was a surprisingly well-toned physique. Merlin was pale, certainly, but not as gaunt as Arthur had expected. His body was willowy in comparison to Arthur’s own, lacking the same stocky muscle quality, but undressed, Merlin’s slimness only made him appear graceful. 

Merlin was, as always, a massive contradiction; dark haired but fair skinned, seemingly soft but with the undeniably firm features of a man—and a handsome one at that.  

“You can wear this,” Arthur said, quickly tossing Merlin his long sleeve shirt while keeping his wandering eyes in check. “I always wear an undershirt so I’m fine. It may be a little big but it’s a hell of a lot better than the shit you had on.”

“I feel like a kid playing dress up,” Merlin said, flopping his arm in the sleeve. “I can’t believe you’re letting me wear your accountant’s shirt.”

“My what?”

“Accountant’s shirt." Merlin chuckled. "You’ve the same striped dress shirt that every accounting student in San Francisco wears. You see them, lined up at the bars, hoping to get laid on Friday nights. All in the same variation of that boring—”

Arthur coughed.

“—It looks great on you, I meant...” Merlin said, working his hand through the other sleeve. 

“I’ll have you know I bought that at Banana Republic.”

“Just because it comes from a brand name store doesn’t mean it’s flattering. You should take Gwen with you when you shop, her taste in clothes is almost as impeccable as her taste in—" Merlin paused, looked Arthur up and down briefly then said quickly, "Other things.“

Arthur turned the rusty sink knob, letting the cold water nip at his hands and cleanse his face. “I can't believe you're ridiculing my clothes now. Merlin, can you for once stop acting like such a  chick ?”

“I’ll stop acting like a chick when you stop acting like a  dick ,” Merlin replied.

“If I'm a dick, then you can go  suck it .”

“I'm not  that hungry,” Merlin muttered with a blush, hastily buttoning the shirt closed.

Arthur laughed, feeling a familiar warmth stirring inside of him. It was the sensation he always got when he and Merlin ribbed each other, intensified by the echo of their voices in the bathroom stall, and the thought of Merlin in  his shirt. Would it be strange of him to not wash it when Merlin returned it? To wear it again, to smell the scent of Merlin against his skin against him? Arthur shuddered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

Merlin, however, seemed oblivious. Examining himself in the mirror, he grabbed a handful of paper towels, topped them with soap and rubbed at the cut on his forehead until he was satisfied.

“The bleeding’s stopped, and with this much soap I don’t think it will get infected,” he announced triumphantly.

“You were hit with a beer can; I hear alcohol is antiseptic,” Arthur replied. “Speaking of drinks, let’s get out of here and order.”

*

A waitress darted between tables, the hum of classical music pricking their ears as Merlin and Arthur looked intently at the menus instead of each other. It was a strange place for two men to dine together, thought Arthur. The ambiance of the restaurant clearly read date night. Couples were holding hands, stealing kisses over pressed white tablecloths. He thought briefly about the waitress who would take their orders, and what she’d assume about them, mildly crestfallen as he realized that this, perhaps, was as close as he would ever get with Merlin.

Arthur crunched a chunk of ice i his mouth from his water glass and said, “I could use a real drink. Let’s order a round with our meal.”

“I don’t drink,” Merlin replied.

“Merlin, what do you want me to do? Beg you? You may not be much, but you're one of the only friends I have here. We’ve had a terrible evening and I need to wash it out of my mind as soon as possible. Do me a favor and have one beer, okay?”

“We're...friends?” Merlin blinked, caught off guard.

“Aren’t we?” 

The question hung unanswered.

“Yes,” Merlin said at last, a pleased look on his face. “I suppose we are.”

“That’s the spirit,” Arthur teased. “And I've decided, we're having Anchor Steams.”

They piled the menu’s up on the table for the waitress. Once they’d ordered and she was out of sight, Merlin said softly, “Arthur, I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner but, thank you for tonight. For everything.” He rubbed at his neck. “I guess I’m not used to people like you sticking up for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, football-playing, jock types.”

“Shows what you know,” Arthur replied. “I spent most of my high school years on the track team. I only did football for a season, a concussion saw to that.”

Merlin flushed. “I’m sorry. I had no idea.“

“Don’t be,” Arthur said. “It was my father’s idea for me to join the team, not mine. I took a major hit at a game, got the wind knocked out of me, but my old man was there in the stands, expecting me to shake it off. So I did. I told my coaches I was fine, played through the remaining five minutes and two overtime periods alright, but after the game I started to get dizzy. When I puked on the sidelines coach forced me to go to the emergency room. That’s when they said I’d had a nasty concussion,”

Arthur smiled, took a sip of his water and said. “You know, Merlin, I actually I laughed when the doctor told me that. Damn, did I milk that concussion for all it was worth. It was the perfect excuse to never play again.”

"I take it you two don't get along? You and your dad?" Merlin asked, playing with the edges of the cloth napkin in his lap.

"That's an understatement." Arthur sighed.

The waitress returned, opening their drinks and setting them down with a flip of her hair.  She’s testing the water , Arthur thought, noticing with interest that Merlin hadn’t even registered the subtle flirtation from the petite blonde.

Arthur took a sip of his beer, watching as the waitress slink past them. He let the flavor bubble up on his tongue and then asked, “Merlin, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

Merlin shot Arthur an icy glare.

“I swear, I’m not trying to be belligerent I’m just—curious. Indulge me.”

To his relief,  Merlina took swig of his drink, saying with a sour face, “No. I haven’t.”

Arthur bit his lip; thinking about the "friend" Merlin was supposedly bringing to the gallery tonight. What that word might actually mean to him. 

“How about a boyfriend?” Arthur ventured.

The music in the restaurant softened. The mumblings of patrons and smells of the kitchen vanishing around Arthur, world melting from his perception until there was only one person left in the room, Merlin, sitting stone still at table, and the gnawing question hanging between them.

“Yes,” Merlin replied carefully, taking another drink.

“I figured,” Arthur said, trying to sound as bored by the revelation as possible. “Tell me you’ve at least  kissed a women before?”

Merlin shifted in his seat, as if he was considering whether or he would answer. He inhaled deeply and said, “There was a girl in my high school. We used to hang out in the woods behind my house in this fort my step dad built for me when I was a kid. There wasn’t much left of it by then: a tin roof, two rotting walls, a rug I’d dragged in from storage. But to us, it was paradise, our escape from the world. I had always expected my first kiss to be amazing and electric, you know? Like you see in the movies. But kissing her felt cold. Fake. As if we were miles apart. I'm not sure which of us was more mortified about that.“

Merlin closed his eyes, took another sip off his sweating beer and added, “I’d known before that of course. I’ve always known. She just... solidified it. She didn’t tell anyone what happened, but it wasn’t long before the whole school figured out my secret on their own. By Junior year, the bullying got so bad that I opted to drop out and do my Senior through a home school program.”

Arthur could feel his back tense. “You could’ve gone along with the girl. If you’d done that, wouldn’t you have spared yourself all that difficulty?” he asked.

“What? You mean string her along, knowing I’d never feel about her the way she felt about me?“ A hint of recognition trembled in Merlin's voice as he said. “That’s cruel, Arthur .  How could I knowingly hurt someone like that?”

Arthur felt each word like a stab in his ribs. They were meant for him. And for the first time in ages he thought honestly about the women he shared his bed with, the woman who was so familiar that he’d stopped looking at her for what she was. Gwen was beautiful in so many ways, compassionate, strong, funny. She was everything a man could want, everything a man  should want.

But he didn’t love her. He hadn’t ever truly loved her as a boyfriend should, if Arthur was completely honest with himself. It had been three months since he’d first laid eyes on Merlin’s silly little cardboard airport sign, since he’d understood a truth he’d chosen to ignore. He wanted to ask Merlin so much more. To touch Merlin's hand resting on the table mere inches from his own.

Instead, Arthur finished his beer in a swallow and replied, “I told Gwen we’d meet her at nine when the galleries open. I think you should do the same with your friend what’s-his-face.”

“His name is Lancelot,” Merlin said, his beer also noticeably empty.

*

They parted ways after dinner, Merlin insisting despite Arthur’s generous offer of his shirt, he needed to go home and change before the gallery opening. 

Arthur had made his displeasure known with a series of grunts and taunting. When these failed, he took an excessive amount of time to find his credit card for the bill, feeling a pang of disappoint at the server’s efficiency in returning it.

*

Gwen’s wool coat scratched against Arthur’s bare arms. He brushed Merlin out of his mind and a curl of hair away from Gwen’s eyes, kissing her once on the forehead.

She took off her scarf, wrapped it around Arthur’s neck and asked, “Why are you wearing only your undershirt?”

“I lent Merlin my shirt,” Arthur replied, his teeth chattering.

“Does this have anything to do with that text I got about you guys ditching me?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. We had a situation.”

They linked arms, Arthur explaining to Gwen the events of the past few hours as they walked towards a row of uneven art deco buildings.

“I can’t believe it!” Gwen said, clasping Arthur’s hand even tighter. “How can some people be so sick. So heartless?”

Sick, Arthur thought with a shudder.  Heartless .  She could describing me now without knowing it. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied.

"Is Merlin all right?”

“I think so. The worst of it was a bump on the head.”

“You know I don’t condone violence,” Gwen said. “But if I had the chance, I’d rip those jerks arms right out of their sockets. That was rad of you to stand up for Merlin like that.” 

Gwen went silent for a moment, and then whispered, “You’ve changed so much since you got here, Arthur. The Arthur I used to know could have been one of those guys throwing the can from the Jeep.”

They milled into a line forming at the front of the open gallery.

“I don’t know what to tell you.” Arthur shrugged, watching cars zoom past on them on the dirty street.  “I’m hardly a bleeding-heart liberal, but that doesn’t mean I like people harassing my friends . ”

“So you and Merlin are  friends now?“ Gwen smiled.

“Maybe,” Arthur replied with a soft grin. “But don’t go blabbing about. I have a reputation to keep.”

“You’re a knight in shining armor,” she said, kissing Arthur affectionately on the lips. “But even knights catch colds. You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.”

*

Merlin’s voice was as smooth as the velvet of his tailored jacket. He had changed clothes before joining Gwen and Arthur, Arthur’s over-sized shirt replaced with the dapper coat, pink shirt, fitted slacks, and a Vivienne Westwood scarf. The Merlin equivalent of formal wear, Arthur thought with a smirk. To his relief, the cut on Merlin’s forehead had stopped bleeding, now covered with a flesh colored Band-Aid.

Around them in the gallery, young people mingled, exchanging pleasantries while simultaneously judging each other's appearances. The room was stuffy with the hot breath of bodies, and the hot air of art critiques.

The group cut through the crowd, grabbed some free drinks, and started to browse the gallery.

“Gwen, you know Lance,” Merlin said, nudging his friend forward. “Lance, let me introduce you to my other roommate. This is Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur’s eyelids jolted open up in surprise. So this was the ‘friend’ Merlin had talked about. The infamous Lance? He wasn’t what Arthur had been expecting. There was nothing really remarkable about Lance, from his mousy brown hair, to his boy-next-door face. He looked perfectly average. Standing next to the elfin other-worldliness that was Merlin, Arthur felt Lance couldn’t have been more out of place.

“Guinevere, always a pleasure.” Lance replied, primly kissing her hand before offering his own to Arthur.

Arthur switched his red plastic cup to his left hand and grasped Lance’s right, fighting the urge to wipe his palm off on his pants when they broke the shake.

“Arthur’s in the Industrial Department,” Merlin said brightly. “But he has a painting, exhibiting in the gallery tonight!”

“I look forward to seeing it. I’m an architecture major myself. Mer and I go way back," Lance replied, squeezing Merlin lightly on the shoulder. "We used to room together at the dorms.”

"Yeah." Merlin laughed. "And Lance was always pestering me about leaving sewing needles on the floor."

Taking a drink, Arthur noticed the way Lance’s eyes gave him a thorough once-over, the silence between them nauseating.

“So, Arthur,” Lance said, his voice muddied by the throbbing electronic music around them. “Merlin tells me you’ve moved here from Indiana? I bet you couldn’t wait to get out of there?”

Arthur stiffened, his curiosity about Lance fading into an unwholesome emotion he couldn’t place. Disdain, perhaps?

“No,” he replied curtly. “I’ve never had a problem with my home state. My move had more to do with Gwen than Indiana. Not everywhere in the Midwest is as devoid of culture as Californian’s seem to think.”

“No, of course not!” Lance said with a start. “I didn't’ mean anything by it! I’m a Michigan transplant myself.”

Michigan? Go figure . With Arthur’s luck, this Lance guy probably rooted for Notre Dame’s heated football rival, Michigan State. If that was the case, they were doomed from the start to never get along. Arthur tightened his hold on Gwen’s hand.

“Gwen, you ready to check out the gallery?” he asked.

“Wait a minute,” Merlin said, resting his hands on both Lance and Arthur's shoulders. “I’ll get us all some more free wine, and we can look at the paintings together. It’ll be...fun.”

“Make it quick,” Arthur replied warily. “And I’ll consider it.”

As Merlin and Lance melted into the fray, Gwen turned to Arthur. “Now what  was that about?”

“Nothing,” Arthur replied, pretending to be interested in giant papier-mâché elephant.

“No. It wasn’t  nothing . Why were you being so weird just now?” she asked.

“I  wasn’t. ”

“Yes, you  were .”

Arthur sighed. “Something about that Lance guy rubs me the wrong way.”

“Oh god, this isn’t about football is it?” Gwen groaned. “You hear the word ‘Michigan’ and you’re ready to jump down the poor man's throat. We don’t know if Lance is a Michigan State fan, and even if he is, you can suck it up. It’s a freaking  game,  Arthur. Give him a chance, OK? I’ve known Lance forever; he’s a good guy. He’ll grow on you.”

“Like a tumor.”

“Shut up.” She laughed. “They’re coming back, so you’d better stop being catty or I swear I’ll spill wine all over you.”

“Some threat,” Arthur said, crossing his arms. “It looks like Merlin’s brought you white.”

*

“Which piece is yours?”

Arthur gestured to a canvas that filled an entire red brick wall. He’d spent several weeks painting it at home in his off hours, hiding it under a tarp in the closet for safekeeping. There was something satisfying about seeing the painting he’d put so much of himself into up on public display.

“It’s huge,” Merlin observed, finishing his glass. “How on earth did you hide it from us for so long?”

“In the closet,” Arthur said. Merlin glanced at him with an amused smile, and Arthur instantly regretted his choice of words.

“Merlin, I thought you didn’t drink?” asked Gwen, eyeing the empty cup in Merlin's hand.

“Tonight's a night of exceptions.” Merlin replied, and Arthur swore that he’d looked his way as he’d said it.

“Do you always paint abstracts?” Lance asked Arthur politely.

Arthur cleared his throat. “I’ll paint anything. It’s more about finding a subject that interests me. However, I don’t consider abstracts restrictive. Color is a landscape in its own right; every line a valley, every ripple a mountain. I do portraits, just not often. It’s difficult to find a subject so engaging that I want to—" He glanced over at Merlin, then looked back at his canvas. "To dedicate my time to them.”

“Arthur, it’s stunning,” Gwen cooed, sliding her fingers up his shoulder to openly play with his shirt collar. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you found a buyer tonight."

Arthur nodded, quietly pleased that Merlin and Lance weren't sharing similar affections between each other.

“So, Arthur, do you have a truck deliver those giant canvasses to the apartment, or do you own a Hummer?” Lance asked with a chuckle.

Arthur was almost certain the clicking sound in his ear was his own jaw tensing. “You’re joking, right?”

“Just curious,” Lance quipped, taking a drink from his glass. “It’s a good thing the walls were tall enough for the gallery assistants to hang it.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely!” Merlin enthused, squinting at the intricate line work so that he was nose-to-nose with the painting. “So much Russian blue! No wait, that’s not right—Brussian? No—Prussian. That’s it. Prussian blue!” 

He giggled, making it apparent to everyone but Merlin himself that he’d had one too many drinks.

“Enough torture,” Arthur said, guiding Gwen into another room. “We’ve a whole gallery to view, let’s move on.”

 


	3. Part 3

If Arthur had found regular Merlin charming, tipsy Merlin was inescapably so. He wafted in and out of the gallery rooms, calling at Lance and Gwen to see the latest object to catch his fancy.

Merlin was as animated as a child, quick to ask Arthur about methods of painting he was unfamiliar with; hanging politely on Arthur’s every word.

No wonder men and women alike looked to Merlin, their eyes studying his face and immaculate dress as intimately as any of the paintings. When midnight hit and it was clear that most of the group had difficulty standing, Lance offered the service of his car. Having only had one drink himself, he was the obvious candidate for designated driver, and even Arthur was too tipsy to argue.

“Would you like to come with me to get the car?” Lance asked Merlin.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and look at the paintings,” Merlin pleaded. “I’m always trapped at the fashion studio. I never go out anymore.”

“Sure thing,” Lance agreed. “I’ll grab the car and honk when I’ve arrived.”

“I better go freshen up,” Gwen said. “I hate events like this. Who designs a public space with only one woman's bathroom? The line is already down the hall!”

“See you in three years,” Arthur said, looking at the endless line of women snaking down the back of the gallery.

Gwen's R-rated gesture as she left suggested that she didn’t think it was such a cute joke.

“Arthur,” Merlin shouted over the music. “Can we look at your painting one more time before we go?”

Arthur wrinkled his nose, assessing a swaying Merlin in front of him. He thought, Hell no, but he said, “Why not?” And so the two of them walked to the furthest gallery room, staring at the speckled canvas.

“Breathtaking,” Merlin breathed, tilting his head back to gaze at the massive work of art.

Arthur shrugged.

“I mean it, Arthur. The strokes, the bleeding colors. It reminds me of a Shibori dyed textile. You must have been working on this for weeks!” Merlin looked the painting up and down again, turned to Arthur and whispered, “You’ve fallen in love—haven’t you?“

Arthur suppressed a gasp. “What?”

“With painting.” Merlin smiled. “And it shows. Why on earth are you in Industrial Design when you can do this?”

“It was the only way my father would let me go to art school. I had to choose a practical career. There’s no way he’d ever let me be something as frivolous as a painter.”

“Shame,” Merlin whispered, running a hand through his hair. “It’s your life. You should be free to make your own choices, stupid or otherwise.”

There’s an invincibility that comes with being drunk, and Arthur let it shroud him like a warm blanket. Acting under the false courage of a few too many cheap drinks, and no else one in sight, Arthur slid his arm around Merlin’s waist. And waited.

He could feel Merlin tense, his breathing quickening, but he didn’t protest or ask Arthur to stand down. Arthur watched as Merlin dug inside his jacket pocket, bringing a cigarette to his mouth with an unsteady hand.

“Take that out of your mouth,” Arthur said in a deep voice.

“I haven’t had one all night,” Merlin replied weakly. “I won’t light it inside. Promise. I—“

In a blink Arthur swiped the cigarette from Merlin's mouth, crushing it in his palm with disdain. He whirled Merlin around to face him, enjoying the thrill of having his hands encircle Merlin's waist, the surprise and longing quivering in Merlin’s frail blue eyes.

He wanted Merlin. Desperately. As if he were fourteen all over again.

Arthur was used to tilting a girl’s chin up when he kissed them, or at the very least bowing down to meet their lips. Merlin fit against him perfectly. If he had expected kissing another man to feel strange, Arthur could say that he was, happily, disappointed.

Merlin’s skin smelt of lilac soap, with the slight hint of stubble that brushed against Arthur’s chin as he teased open Merlin’s mouth. Everything about Merlin was tender, from his aroused flush, to the way his lips accepted Arthur's advances—even encouraged them.

And, to Arthur's fierce pleasure, a growing part of Merlin against him was now anything but soft.

Tracking his lips down the pulse of his neck, Arthur whispered into Merlin’s ear, “Electric enough for you, Merlin?”

Merlin closed his eyes, said, "Arthur, I—"

Arthur didn’t wait to hear the answer. He couldn't. Greedily, he cornered Merlin up against the wall, almost crashing into his own painting as he claimed Merlin’s mouth again. The vibration of the gallery music thumped inside Arthur's ribcage, his hands frantically finding their way underneath Merlin's velvet jacket, up the thin cotton of his cute little dress shirt.

He brushed his fingers down Merlin’s skin, cupping the ridge of his hipbone as their belt buckles ground slowly together.

Their mouths and legs intertwined, tongues exploring each other for the first time. Arthur could feel Merlin melting against his body, gasping underneath him. The very sound of Merlin's uneven breaths were making Arthur feel like he could break right there, from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Behind them a woman laughed, a group of tattooed kids trickling in from another room in the gallery, eyeing the pair with creepy amusement. Arthur released Merlin from his arms, struggling to gather his composure.

Merlin righted himself, painstakingly, as if he’d been awoken mid-dream, his hands scrambling to hide the poking evidence of their encounter.

A car horn blared outside. Arthur licked his lips, savoring the honey-sweet taste of what was on them.

“That would be our ride,” he exhaled.

*

Arthur rolled to the side of the bed, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Birds were the singing praises of the morning, the sun burglarizing its way through blinds.

Arthur threw the covers off himself, scratched the waistband of his boxers, and crawled out of bed. Gwen's face was buried into her pillow. She was still in depths of hangover sleep, snores mewing sweetly from her lips. When he brushed a hand through her hair, she didn't even flinch.

Saturday morning, was it? And Friday night—what was that? A dream? He walked into the closet and saw the dirty towel balled on the floor, tangible evidence of a night of desperate lovemaking with Gwen.

Arthur threw it in the hamper, disgusted with himself.

Friday night was real—all of it. The wet hot kisses with Merlin in the gallery. The car ride home. Merlin's morbid silence in the passenger's seat as he had made out with Gwen in the backseat. Being dropped off at the apartment. Lance and Merlin driving off, the steady shedding of clothing with Gwen. The bed.

Arthur got dressed in the dark closet, closed the bedroom door, and snuck on tiptoe down the hallway. The door to the room on the right had been left open, revealing the mystery that was Merlin's part of the apartment.

Arthur poked his head in, looking for Merlin but found himself alone. Merlin’s room was the smaller of the two rooms in the apartment, with no visible closet, the window's a fraction of the size of the ones in the master bedroom.

A dresser stood cluttered with gouache paints and plastic pallets, a cup of still paint water left next to them, looking like a toxic tea. The drawers were completely ajar, clothing flung hap-haphazardly onto the floor. Merlin must have come home when they were sleeping, grabbed what he needed, and spent the night with someone else. Probably Lance.

A figure caught Arthur's attention. He jumped back, thinking he had been mistaken that Merlin wasn’t at home, until he realized that the body in the corner was a headless dress form. Arthur shoved it out of spite, watching the body twirl.

Afraid the metal clinking sound would wake Gwen, he helped the form come to a stop. Women's clothing was pinned to the tanned body, causing Arthur to wonder what kinky reason Merlin would have for keeping a dress in his room. It dawned on him that, of course, Merlin must have sewn this dress for school.

Arthur  flipped on the light switch, closed the door, and walked back to the dress form, pulling up a silky sleeve. It was...amazing. The dress was light as a whisper, looking like a designer piece pulled straight from his stepsister Morgan's closet. How could a person just create something like this out of nothing? Painting, drawing, sculpting, Arthur all understood, but this? He may know jack-shit about clothing, but he recognized talent when he saw it.

Arthur let go of the dress, slumping onto Merlin's bed. It was teeny, far too small for a man of his size. And where on earth did Merlin get such a crap mattress? Ikea?

He rearranged his head, laying down on the pillow and imaging Merlin lying sleepless under the covers, thinking about—what? Arthur? Them? Or more realistically, how much of an asshole Arthur was? Is that why Merlin didn't come home last night?

Arthur sighed, pulling the pillow closer to his face and wishing hopelessly that he could fall asleep in the tiny bed until its owner came home to find him.

But Merlin didn't come home; not for the entire weekend. It wasn't until Monday that panic set in Arthur's stomach. Would Merlin even be there when Arthur came into the fashion studio to help him fit his competition piece? Had he dropped out of school?

He was relieved that Gwen didn't share his concern.

"Merlin will be there," she said, enjoying a bowl of oatmeal at the table Monday morning. "He always does this; he's probably sleeping at school and working himself to death, but he'll be at your fitting appointment. You can count on it. Merlin's never missed a class in all the years I've known him. He even came in once with the flu, but the teacher kicked him out because he couldn't stop coughing."

"I guess," Arthur replied nonchalantly, ignoring the knot in his stomach that refused to untie itself. "Maybe he decided to crash at his boyfriend's place?"

"Boyfriend?" Gwen asked with a start. "What boyfriend?"

"You know," Arthur grumbled, chomping a mouthful of toast. "That Lance guy he brought with him to the gallery."

"You thought Lance and Merlin?" She laughed out loud. "Oh my god, Arthur, Lance is totally straight. He and Merlin are just friends!"

Arthur swallowed, mortified at the color his face must be turning.

"Well, I guess that explains your terrible behavior to Lance last night. Homophob," Gwen snapped. She pulled out her cellphone, fingers flipping rapidly across the screen. "You really need to learn to get over your prejudices, Arthur. I’m so texting Lance to tell him you thought he and Merlin were couple. That’s too funny."

*

The fashion design studio positively reeked of estrogen. Square-bodied dress forms with triangle breasts stood in lifeless formation, students pricking and clothing their canvas skins.

There, floating adrift the sea of women was the lost Merlin Emrys, leaning over the patterning table, hip resting against the table’s broad metal lip as he skimmed a textbook.

Arthur could tell just by the look of Merlin that he was in one of his 'trances' as Gwen called them. His eyes were downcast, rich-blue in color and glazed in thought. Butcher-block patterns were piled near his worn leather bag, evidence of hours spent drafting. Beside Merlin, a cup of tea sat uncovered, untouched.

Working next to Merlin was a redhead with plump, venomous-looking lips. Something about her reminded Arthur of the vintage Playboy Magazines he had found as a boy, hidden under a suitcase in his father's garage.

He watched from the doorway as the woman splayed herself across Merlin's table, inspecting his patterns.

"Merlin, how did you figure out the measurement of the yoke?" she purred.

"It’s on page three of the handout Barbara gave us last class," Merlin replied without once looking up.

"As if anyone can understand old Barb's calculations!"

"They’re not that difficult. If you take the time to read the handouts."

"I read half," the redhead said, tossing Merlin’s patterns back on the table before looking at her own pattern work in disgust. "But I got bored, so I went out instead. It's good to blow off some steam every now and again. Don't you agree?"

"Not at the expense of your grades," Merlin replied evenly.

Arthur let out deep cough and Merlin stilled.

"You're covered in filth," Merlin snapped, catching sight of Arthur. He bit his lower lip, adding, "Couldn't you have at least scrubbed the paint off your hands before you came? Would that be too much to ask?"

As much as Arthur had wanted to see Merlin, a larger part of him had dreaded coming into the fashion studio. The last time they had been face-to-face was in an embrace, and not a thing had been said between the two of them since. In fact, Arthur had assumed that Merlin was actively avoiding him.

But, to Arthur's great relief, Merlin had offered an olive branch with this taunt. Taunting was their game. A game in which they were both seasoned masters, and knew the rules. It was obvious neither of them was ready to handle what had passed between them that Friday in the gallery, but they could both handle this.

"It's not like I haven't washed my hands, Merlin," Arthur readily quipped. "If you painted rather than sewed pretty little dresses, you'd know it's impossible to get pigment stains off."

Merlin flashed a grin and Arthur let his shoulders relax, the knot in his stomach finally slipping as he stepped inside the fashion studio.

He could feel all eyes looking at him, as if he were an exotic animal paraded for their amusement. Come to think of it, he and Merlin were the only men in the room.

The redhead promptly turned to Arthur, cradling her arms under her ample chest.

"Who's this, Merlin? Friend of yours?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice.

Merlin dug deep into his bag, ignoring them both. Arthur had his suspicions that he was enjoying throwing him to this she-wolf that was, until Merlin spoke up.

"Don't touch him, Nimueh. That's Arthur. He's Gwen's. And Arthur, don't touch anything you're not supposed to, either."

"Gwen's boyfriend, huh?" Her smile looked far too dramatic to be genuine. With a sharp chuckle, Nimueh rolled her dress form away from the patterning table.

Arthur was lead to what he would describe, for lack of a better comparison, a makeshift living room. A shoji screen stood by a big blue couch that had seen too many butts and too little steam cleaning. Its arms were patched with widely stitched scraps, and crumpled on the top of one of them was a blanket, suggesting that the couch also acted as an emergency bed.

Merlin stood in front of the couch, clutching a green binder and a cow shaped tape measure. "Sorry for the wait," He said softly. "I couldn't find my scissors."

"On your arm." Arthur smirked. "Isn't that why you got them tattooed there? So you wouldn't lose them?"

Merlin brushed Arthur off. "We'll have more room if we work over here. Ready to get started?"

"And what do you plan to do with the cow?"

"Take your measurements. There's no point in fitting my muslin on you if your measurements aren't right."

"Muslim?"

"Mus-lin," Merlin corrected, the l rolling off his tongue. "It's a fabric you use for draping and alteration. It's cheap and lightweight, so you can make as many samples as you need until you get your patterns right. Only then do you move on to the more expensive fabric. Think of it as the sketch before the canvas.

"Oh," Arthur said, trying to look vaguely interested.

"Take off your coat."

Arthur obliged, watching the interested quiver of Merlin's eyelashes as he purposefully removed his coat in slow motion.

"Ah good, you've a got tee under. That's perfect," Merlin said, the tenor of his voice coming less-smoothly as it had before. Lifting up Arthur's chin so that his head faced forward, he continued, "Hold straight, just like that. There. Don't move a muscle."

As if it's possible to hold straight around you, Arthur wanted to snap. It was impossible to stop the heated desire beating in his blood, begging him to submit to Merlin's touch. To enjoy it. The most he could do now was make sure no one else caught onto him.

He swallowed his desire into the pit of his stomach, letting Merlin's deft hands do their work.

"Push back your shoulders. I can't take the measurements right if you slouch," Merlin said at his side.

"I do not slouch."

"Well, you are now."

"Says the wizard of slouch," Arthur retorted, jutting back his shoulders with comical force.

Merlin softened his grip, whispering so faintly into Arthur's ear that he could barely hear it over the sewing machines. "This isn't comfortable for me either, alright? It will go faster for both of us if you don't talk."

Before Arthur could blink, Merlin had whipped out the cow tape measure, extending the malleable tape and rolling it around the base of Arthur's neck. He checked it, jotting measurements in the green binder. Over the process of several minutes and many strange positions on Arthur's part, Merlin managed to fill up the binder pages with his scribbles.

And Arthur, with the help of remembering the lyrics to the Star Spangled Banner, had managed a professional appearance throughout.

"I need to get one last measurement from you." Merlin swallowed. "Your inseam."

It was then that Arthur noticed the uncertainty on Merlin's face, and the way several students ears pricked up to their conversation.

Merlin blushed and said under his breath, "The inseam is measurement that goes from your groin down to your ankle. It'll only take a moment."

Arthur's pupils dilated. He nodded solemnly.

Someone wolf-whistled, and Arthur felt Merlin's hand place the tape measure right under his crotch, unraveling it down to his left ankle. But as promised, Merlin did the job quickly. The second time was a bit less awkward, but only by a little. Normally, Arthur would have no qualms with Merlin's face hovering at that level, but this attention, paired with the gawking of a classroom, was anything but erotic.

After finishing the measurements and scratching them down, a very red Merlin grabbed his paperwork and excused himself.

*

Merlin clutched his binder to his chest, ducking behind the partition used for model fittings. Once he was hidden he loosened the scarf at his throat. He felt hot, almost feverish. Maybe Lance was right. Maybe he had been single too long?

He clenched his eyes closed. "Arthur is a prick," he reminded himself. "Arthur is a prick, and more importantly, that prick is your best friend's boyfriend."

He thought again of Arthur. His ken-doll hair. Paralyzing all-American smile. The tape measure rolling across Arthur's firm thighs. His smell. What was it exactly? A sweet warm musk mixed with cologne and just a hint of oil paint.

And, most interesting of all, was the memory of Arthur's wet lips and the touch of his hands in the art gallery…

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Merlin dabbed perspiration off his forehead with the tip of his scarf. Screw Gwen for suggesting this. And screw Arthur, him and his well fitted jeans!

Screw Arthur, Merlin's subconscious mused. Now there's an interesting thought. And you know now that he wouldn't object to it...

Merlin frowned, adjusted himself accordingly, and walked back into the studio as if all was right in the world. Arthur was sitting at the patterning table, leafing through a five-year-old copy of Vogue. He didn't even look up from it.

"You can go now. I'll compare your measurements to what I need and get back to you," Merlin said.

"So there's a chance I won't have to do this again?" Arthur replied, tossing the magazine across the table.

"With any luck your ass will be too big, and you'll be off the hook."

"Really? But I was so looking forward to being a patron of the arts."

Merlin crammed his notebook into his bag. "I'm sure if you ask around you'll find another fashion student desperate enough to fit on you."

A few girls giggled but went mute at the sight of Gwen strolling through door.

"Thank goodness, she's come to collect you," Merlin quipped, carefully dodging Gwen's greeting hug.

"Did you two have fun playing dress-up?" Gwen smiled, pinching her boyfriend's cheek like a doting old aunt.

"We sure enjoyed the show!" A pink-haired girl shouted from across the room.

"Ugh. You would, Kat!" Gwen laughed, raising an eyebrow. "Paws off. Arthur’s mine!"

"Speaking of shows," Nimueh interrupted, creeping from behind her dress form. "Did you happen to catch Friday's open gallery in downtown Oakland, Gwen?"

Gwen looked around the room, as if to decide if Nimueh was talking to her. She frowned briefly then said, "Yeah. Arthur had a painting in it."

"Aw, that's too bad. We must have just missed each other. I did see Merlin and Arthur as I was leaving, though. But I don't think they noticed me? They both seemed a little…preoccupied."

Merlin and Arthur froze, searching each other’s expressions for answers. The fear mimicked in Arthur's eyes was enough for Merlin. He acted quickly.

"Gwen," Merlin said, inserting himself in-between Nimueh and Arthur. "Feel free to head out. I'll let you know if I need Arthur—" He could feel himself flushing at his poor choice of words. "For more fitting. I mean. That is... it's done so you can both go home. I'll work late tonight. Please grab dinner without me."

Arthur nodded frantically, looping Gwen's arm in his. "I'm famished," he groaned. "And I've done my part like you wanted. Can I get the hell out of this studio before I grow a vagina?"

Merlin waited until they were both out of sight before he dared speak to Nimueh.

"What are you playing at?" he whispered

Adjusting the spaghetti strap on her tank top, Nimueh puckered her rouge lips. "Come outside and grab a smoke with me, Merlin. I've got something to show you."

*

Merlin followed Nimueh her down the hallway, out a fire exit with a busted alarm, and onto a cement patio, walled in by green recycling bins. Traffic noises rumbled around them, the bins rattling them whenever a truck thundered past. But other than a few insects, and the metallic eye of a security camera above the door frame, they were alone.

Merlin jumped as Nimueh pawed his back pocket.

"God, what's wrong with you?" he yelped, pushing her away like she had plague. Knowing Nimueh’s reputation, it was possible.

"If you brought me here to hit on me," Merlin said, grabbing the door handle, "I just gave you my answer."

"Relax," she replied, opening her palm to reveal a silver lighter inscribed with Merlin's his own initials. She pulled two cigarettes from her purse, stuck them in her mouth and lit both at once. "Take one."

Merlin eyed her uncertainly, accepting the cigarette without putting it to his lips. He snatched back his lighter.

"So tell me, Merlin." Nimueh smiled, lifting her leg up so that her heel rested in the grout of the wall. "Arthur any good? Pretty shameless of you two to mount like that in public."

Merlin froze. His worst suspicions confirmed.

"It's not like that." He stuttered.

"Make a habit of fucking your friend's boyfriends? Who would’ve thought our adorable innocent Merlin—"

"—I can explain!"

Nimueh took a deep drag off her cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke into Merlin’s face. "I'm fucking with you, sweetie." She laughed. "You don't have to justify shit to me. I don't care. But I think we both know someone who would care. What do you think Gwen would say if she knew about your rendezvous with Arthur? Think she'd be angry? Think she'd like to see it—that it'd make her wet? I know that's why I taped it."

Merlin felt the bile rising in his throat as Nimueh held up her cellphone, revealing a grainy video. Even with the poor quality, Merlin could easily make out Arthur on top of him. The reminder of that moment would have excited him any other time, but knowing whose hands it was in, who had taken it, made him ill.

"How did you get that?"

"Like it? I'll email it to you for later." She winked, hitting send. "It was a stroke of luck. I was at the gallery and saw you two going at it. To be honest, I had no clue who you were with, Merlin, I just thought the girls in the department would get a kick out of you boning some dude. But now that I know who your lover-boy is—"

"—You wouldn't," Merlin snapped.

"Well, that depends," Nimueh replied, tucking her phone into the waistband of her skirt. "On what's in it for me. You're a top student, Barbara's little pet..."

The words caught in Merlin’s throat. "You're... blackmailing me?"

Shrugging, Niumeh answered, "Blackmail is such a nasty word. Let’s just say I need you to become my personal sweatshop. My patterns for studio three are hanging in the back rack along with my sketches for creative design. By Sunday I want all the butcher blocks done for studio, and the muslin's started for design, and don't try anything stupid like stealing my phone. I have the video on Cloud, and if you fuck with me, I'll send it Gwen out of spite."

Merlin crumpled onto the cement steps. For all the fire that had burned inside him only half an hour before, when he was with Arthur, he now felt chilled to the bone.

Nimueh made another sick smile, and bent down to stroke his hair.

"You'll do it?" she breathed.

"Yes," Merlin said, afraid to meet her eyes. To anyone else she would’ve been just another scantily dressed, overly tattooed art student, but in the alleyway, among slimy walls and trash, Nimueh was Medusa herself. "How long do I have to do this?"

"As long as I want."

"If I do your work for you, you swear you won't show that video to anyone?"

"Of course." Nimueh walked back to the exit and threw the door open, light pooling over a brooding Merlin. "And don't look so beat up, you have no one to blame but yourself." She scowled, flicking her cigarette to the ground. "If any of those nosy bitches asks where we were, tell them we left class for a smoke. And remember, I want the work done by Sunday. You'd better not flake out on me, Merlin."

 


	4. Part 4

The silver flash of a car barreled through sopping rain, tires screeching as it braked in front of Rockridge station.

Merlin flicked the ash of his American Spirit onto the sidewalk. He recognized the Honda, but the driver inside was a mystery to him. It wasn't until the wipers blinked that Merlin could make out Arthur behind the wheel, dressed in a T-shirt and plaid pajama bottoms, his mouth set in an unreadable line.

Merlin inhaled off his cigarette for courage, re-reading the five word text he'd received from Arthur only hours before.

Rockridge station. Midnight. Be there.

Merlin covered Arthur's name on the screen with his thumb, as if the action could erase Arthur from his view, but he was was still there inside the car, every chiseled feature of his face as perfect as Merlin had remembered it. 

Merlin's courage was unraveling faster than a shoddy running-stitch. He wondered, did he have enough of it left to open the car door?

Arthur made the choice for him, the horn of the Honda blaring into the night.

"Cut it out, I'm in!" Merlin said. He abandoned his cigarette and jumped into the car, tossing his school bag on the floor as the Arthur hit the gas.

"You reek of smoke," Arthur said sourly, glancing at Merlin in the rear-view mirror.

"Lovely to see you, too," Merlin said, mixing in a more genuine, "Thanks for the ride."

"It's Noah's ark outside; Gwen said you wouldn't have remembered an umbrella and that I could borrow her car to get you. But you know that's not why I'm here."

Merlin leaned back into the headrest, watching raindrops streak across the car window. Buildings flew past in gray-scale, the asphalt road ahead glistening with the yellow ghosts of the headlights. Merlin had his own haunts to reckon with tonight. 

He’d reconstructed the fateful gallery night in his mind so many times, playing Arthur's kiss on repeat like a new favorite song whose words were still unknown.

The car careened past Telegraph Avenue. "This isn't the way home," Merlin observed.

"We’re taking the scenic route," Arthur replied, turning on the radio to avoid further conversation.  
Music glided through the car, the singer's gravely voice a note in the symphony of rain. Merlin closed his eyes, exhaustion stealing into his joints. The city streets melted into houses, the houses into the gnarled branches of oaks trees. They were going uphill, winding up a narrow pathway of earth into blurry starlight. Merlin felt himself pushed forward by both machine and the lull of sleep.

He opened his eyes just as the car was parking in a muddy lot, Arthur blatantly ignoring a 10 p.m. park closure sign. The forest creaked around them in complaint, as if the car's presence had interrupted its slumber.

He's bringing me here? But why? thought Merlin, rubbing sleep from his eyes. It's nothing but hiking trails. Not even a café to talk in.

Arthur wants you isolated, Merlin’s subconscious mused.

That thought didn't sit well with Merlin's conscience or his stomach. He glanced around the palely lit car interior, sighing as he caught sight of Arthur's face in profile. 

Merlin was afraid. Not of Arthur. No. He could never be afraid of Arthur. Behind his cutting words, there was a gentleness to Arthur's expressions and actions that spoke volumes to Merlin. But he was afraid of being left alone in a car with Arthur, and the feebleness of his willpower when it came to all things Arthur. That thought alone was enough to make Merlin woozy.

Arthur killed the ignition. "That girl from the studio, Nimueh," he said, his voice stoney. "What does she know?"

*

Merlin sat uneasy in the back seat, clasping his knees together. "I don't know what you mean."

"You're a shitty liar," Arthur replied.

"Good. Unlike some people, deception is an art I'd prefer not to excel at."

Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Out with it. We haven't got all night."

The wind whipped the car windows, vibrating the glass as Merlin said, "Nimueh took me to the back of the school after you and Gwen left. I wasn't sure what she wanted at first, but… Arthur, she saw us in the gallery. She saw everything."

Arthur white knuckled the steering wheel. He closed his eyes and asked, "Are you sure?"

Merlin pulled his phone from his jacket pocket, fiddled with it, and then tossed it on the passenger's seat. Arthur eyed the iphone as if it were a snake set to strike. He picked it up slowly, turned it over in his hand and pressed play. Video illuminated the screen, his own husky voice rumbling from the speakers. When the mutual panting began, Arthur fumbled, dropping the phone. 

"Nimueh’s trying to blackmail me with that," Merlin said, hugging his knees even tighter. "She expects me to do her schoolwork in exchange for her silence. She's dead serious. Arthur, we have to tell to Gwen about this before Nimueh does."

"And what would we tell Gwen?" Arthur said, whipping a glint of sweat from his upper lip.

"That we were drunk. Stupid. That that didn't' mean anything."

Arthur had been hurt many times in his short life. He'd been in fistfights that left him with pummeled with bruising, and had even broken a leg from a fall off an ATV at thirteen, the bone popping out at an ungodly angle before it was set. But this— Merlin's blatant indifference about him— it stung worse than all those things combined.

"I see," Arthur said, his voice barely civil. "That's how you feel..."

Merlin's teeth caught his lower lip. "How I feel about you, about us, it's irrelevant! We need to do what's right."

The force of Arthur's fists hitting the steering wheel echoed through the dashboard, making Merlin jump in his seat. "Gwen's not finding out. Period. Ever. End of discussion!"

"You're telling me you want me to agree to blackmail?" Merlin snapped back. "That you're okay with that?"

"You don't understand the seriousness of the position I'm in, Merlin,” Arthur replied.

"That's where you're wrong, Arthur. For the first time since I met you, I understand you perfectly."

The back door of the car flung open with a metallic shriek and Merlin was gone, rain battering him as he trudged up the muddy gravel road.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Arthur called, rolling down the driver's side window.

Merlin kept walking, water cascading down his face, over his scowl, his black converse sinking deeper into the gravel with every step.  
Arthur stuck his head out of the window and shouted over the crashing storm. "Merlin, get your scrawny ass in the car, or I swear... I'll—"

"You'll what?" Merlin yelled, his voice cracking. "What can you do to me that's worse than what you've already done? You've made it perfectly clear you don't give a shit about me! You're the one looking for kicks behind your girlfriend's back and I have to pay the price?" 

He trailed off, his eyes swimming with tears. Gulping them back, Merlin cried, "I can't believe I didn't realize it before. I'm such an idiot! How many besides me, Arthur? No, wait, don't answer that. I don't even want to know! You do realize AIDS is still out there?"

The ignition choked, headlights dimming. Arthur flew from the car, his pajamas soaking up the fury of the storm. “You honestly think I've been trying to fuck every Tom, Dick, and Harry, in San Francisco?" he demanded.

Merlin rolled his eyes at Arthur through his wet, flattened bangs. He walked back towards the car mumbling something intangible.

"Yes, I flirt!" Arthur exploded, rain trickling into into his mouth, blurring his vision as he trudged up to a shivering Merlin. "That's how I am! But I've never cheated on Gwen by even a kiss, let alone stuck it in anyone. Not in the three years we've been together—so don't you roll your eyes at me, Merlin. I don't give a flying fuck if you don't believe it. I may have screwed around in my teens, but she changed that. Gwen and I, our relationship was solid until you, your scarves and your ass-tight jeans came along to screw it all up!"

"Me?" Merlin snorted, his arms held flat against his chest, as if he was trying to hold himself together. "How am I responsible for your sexual repression issues?"

Arthur paced through the gravel, his eyes wild. "So I've always been a little off, what the hell does that matter? I could still build a normal life with her! Marriage after college, a house in the suburbs. Kids. I've always had control over that depraved part of myself until you!" he said, grabbing for Merlin’s arm.

"Back off!"

Arthur had no time to react. One forceful shove from Merlin sent him tumbling backward, his head slamming into the open Honda door with a sickening thud. Merlin's mouth formed a perfect “zero” in shock. For all their taunting, they had never put an unfriendly hand on each other. Even when Arthur instigated in the most shameless manner, Merlin had, before, only defended himself with words.

Arthur cursed under his breath, tackling Merlin. His feet slipped in the eroding soil as he clamped his arms firmly around Merlin’s waist in football hold. 

"Enough of this crap," Arthur growled, forcing Merlin through the open car door. "You're getting in the car before you catch pneumonia, whether you want to or not!"

Merlin, aided by the rain, slipped from Arthur's grasp. He stumbled down the road, but before he could make it past the park closure sign Arthur caught him, yanking on his scarf. Merlin was jerked back. He tried to steady himself, leaning forward, but with a slip, his scarf unraveled, sending Merlin tumbling face first into the mud, his scarf sinking into a bubbling puddle beside him.

Merlin wiped the dirt out of his eyes, spat it out of his mouth, and with a curse of, "That was vintage, you prick!" charged at Arthur's legs.

They grappled in darkness, their clothing weighed down with water, clothing pricked by twigs and battered by rocks. It wasn't until Merlin's spine wedged against a boulder that he cried mercy, Arthur pinning Merlin underneath him. 

"Merlin," Arthur exhaled in a low pant over Merlin, his eyes hooded. Wanton. "You're being obstinate. Do you have any fucking idea what that does to me?"

Merlin tilted his head up and shuddered as their lips crashed together. Arthur's kiss was all apologies. His true feelings for Merlin flowing as naturally as the rain that pounded their bodies. They had found each other again, and nothing else mattered. Not Nimueh. Not the fight, not the inevitable questions that would sour their return home.

Merlin didn't speak, but Arthur felt his arms drape warmly around his neck, the exotic nectar of his kisses gracing Arthur’s lips. Arthur pushed his longing into Merlin's hip, aching. He pleaded to Merlin with his mouth and every ounce of his body for Merlin to forgive him, to keep this thing between them a secret.

It wasn't just lust that drew them to each other; Arthur knew that now. If it was purely lust that magnetized him to Merlin, he could have fought it. He could have continued the well-constructed ruse that had become his life. Undeniably, Arthur wanted to sleep with Merlin. To explore every beautiful inch of him, but it was more than that. Arthur wanted this ridiculous man— with his comely looks and impish grin — to love him.

They struggled to stand the rain, groping each other all the way to the dry backseat of the car where they lay down parallel to one-another, huddling together for warmth.

"You really want this?" Merlin whispered, burying his face into Arthur's shirt to hide his desperation.

Arthur's hand slipped down the front Merlin's soaked jeans. "Since the first moment I saw you," he exhaled.

He unbuttoned the waistband of Merlin’s jeans, tugged open the zipper, stroking Merlin gently at first, then with the same light quickness he used on himself.

Merlin bucked at the touch. "Slowly," he rasped, his fingers clutching onto Arthur's arm.

"Why?” Arthur asked. A smile touched his lips. “Merlin, how long has it been since you've—"

Merlin's voice was thick with need. "Over a year," he managed, his eyes rolling back as Arthur teased him again.

"That's a crime," Arthur replied, raising a coy eyebrow. "We'll remedy it immediately."

They shed their drenched clothing layer by layer, along with their inhibitions. Nothing stood between them anymore but the pulsing desire for skin on skin, the pleasured warmth of friction, a condom—and eventually—Merlin's breathless moans.

*

During their lovemaking the storm had passed. Night was cleansed into a damp silence, as if the rain had washed away with it the tension building in Merlin and Arthur over the last few months.

Merlin's face was nestled in the moist crook of Arthur's arm, waking from where he had dozed. 

He opened his eyes, listened with sleepy satisfaction to the pull of Arthur's breaths under him. The fierce rhythm of his heart.

Arthur was fully awake, one arm behind his head, the other cradling Merlin on top of him in the back seat of the car. Merlin let his fingers play down the firm grooves of the Arthur's abdominal muscles, traveling the soft patch of hair that started at his navel. The thought of Arthur's body, what his mouth had done to it, was thrilling Merlin back into excitement all over again.

Arthur looked absolutely breathtaking naked Merlin though with a yawn. And for the first time since he had met Arthur Pendragon, Arthur looked unabashedly happy.

Merlin nudged Arthur’s arm off of him and rolled over on his back, still weak from the ecstasy of release and desperate not to tumble off the car seat. He exhaled, ribs rising and falling in time with Arthur's beside him.  
His fidgeting stirred Arthur, who carefully repositioned Merlin's head back onto his arm. "Where do you think you're going?" he crooned, stroking the tangled locks of Merlin's hair. "Do you think I'm finished with you?"

What Merlin expected next was the usual conversation from Arthur. A crude double entendre, a joke about them having to steam clean the car. At the very least, he'd expected Arthur to call him “a girl” for wearing lavender boxer briefs.

Arthur's words more than surprised Merlin.

"We could go public with a relationship when I'm done with school. If you'd still have me,” Arthur said dreamily, covering the cusp of Merlin's collarbone with clever kisses. "In two years, possibly three. I'd need to finish my degree first. To get established in my career before I can afford the risk of coming out."

"Huh?" Merlin replied, concerned that Arthur may have hit his head against the car a little too hard during their fight. "Are you serious?"

Arthur bent down to kiss Merlin, teasing him with his tongue until Merlin's lungs had no air left in them. 

"I just showed you how serious I am. Twice over.” Arthur smiled, breaking the kiss. “Should we try for three times?"

"It's been hours since you picked me up," Merlin gasped, looking away from Arthur to keep from giving in. "Aren't we forgetting something important, like, say, your girlfriend?"

Arthur's face darkened. "Gwen can't know about this, Merlin. About us. And if we're careful, she won't have to."

"How can you—"

“—I don’t take any pleasure in lying to her. I may be an ass, but I'm not a sadist." Arthur sighed deeply. "Maybe it would've been better if we'd called our relationship quits before she moved for school, but I guess that doesn't matter now."

Merlin furrowed his brow, pulling away from Arthur and up into a sitting position. "If you feel that way, why not break up with her?"

Arthur shook his head. "You have to understand, Gwen and I—It's complicated. We've been a couple for a long time."

"So what, you have to keep dating her?" Merlin scoffed. "Out of sheer obligation? That's messed up."  
"Our families know each other. They go to the same church back in Indiana." Arthur curled up to Merlin, nuzzling up against him like a puppy. "You have to understand. South Bend is a small city, and gossip spreads fast. Gwen's father works under mine at the same company, and she's also good friends with my blabbermouth stepsister. If Gwen and I break up, Nimueh will realize she's lost her leverage on you, and she'll show Gwen the video. And if Gwen finds out the reason I dumped her is because I've cheated—with you no less—she'll be pissed. And if Gwen’s pissed, she'll talk. Or, at the very least, Morgan will call Gwen after the breakup and wheedle information. Once that happens—if my father finds out about us—I'm fucked."

"What if you get Gwen to break up with you?" Merlin suggested. "It wouldn't be difficult. You're excellent at being a asshole."

Arthur chuckled, revealing a sliver of teeth. He rubbed Merlin's bare shoulder with his hand and said, "That wouldn't solve anything. No matter how Gwen and I break up, Nimueh is bound to show Gwen that video, because she'll have lost her leverage. You see, It all creates the same problem, Merlin."

"You’re that afraid of your family finding out you're gay?" Merlin asked, biting at his lower lip.

Arthur’s head jerked up. "I'm not afraid.”

"I get that your father would be upset, but what about your mother?"

"Dead," Arthur sighed, writing A + M on the foggy window glass with his finger. "And as much as Morgan can't stand our father, I doubt she’d be supportive of me, either." He encircled the letters in a heart, cocked his head to the side and asked, "What about your parents? How do they feel about you waving a rainbow flag?"

"My family?" Merlin chuckled, blushing at Arthur's window art. "Mom doesn't care. Heck, she'd be thrilled if I brought a boyfriend home to meet her."

"And your father?"

"Never met him. He was a fling Mom had at the Spirit Rock Meditation Center. He doesn't even pay child support..." The discomfort in Merlin's expression morphed into a goofy grin. "But my stepdad’s supportive. He even helped me with homeschooling when I had to leave high school because of the bullying."

"That's not like my father at all.” Arthur leaned his forehead head against the window, his breath fogging the glass, covering up his window doodle. “He'd kick my ass within an inch of my life if he found out that I—” He scrunched up his face. “The whipping I can handle. It’s not like he hasn't given me beatings before. But the worst of it is, he'd cut me off completely, Merlin. School funding, lodging, inheritance; all of it—gone.  
It's stupid, but ever since I was a kid all I've ever wanted was to live up to his expectations. I may not like the guy, but I respect him. He's his own man, the head of a company. He raised me practically on his own. Merlin, if I graduate, if get a good job, then even if Dad doesn't understand my decisions he'll have to respect me, too, for what I've accomplished. That’s why I can't break up with Gwen; I can't risk him finding out about me until I've proven myself.” 

Merlin sighed, and Arthur licked his lips and whispered, “Merlin, please. My future depends on this."

"And what about my future?" Merlin answered dryly, pulling his jeans off the floor. "Or does that even matter now that you've had your way with me?"

"I'll take care of Nimueh, and see if I can get her to let up on you. Christ, I'll bribe her if I have to! Didn't I tell you that I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head, a laugh cracking in his throat. "And did you include yourself in that promise?"

"You don't believe me?" Arthur frowns, playing with the elastic of Merlin's boxers, snapping it once against Merlin’s skin before snaking his hand lower. "Still dead set on telling Gwen about us?"

"Are you insane?" Merlin said. "How can I? What we did before was bad enough, but tonight...this is unforgivable."

Grinning, Arthur replied, "I didn't hear any complaints half an hour ago."

Merlin stopped Arthur's hand at his awakening cock, his lips forming a full pout. He threw his hand off and groaned. "I'm serious! I don't know how I'm going to be able to look Gwen in the eyes tomorrow. You're right about one thing Arthur, she can't know what we did, but that doesn't mean I'm content playing Merlin-Monroe in this Camelot fantasy of yours. I refuse to keep hurting my friend like that."

Arthur's jaw tensed. "What are you saying?"

"The flirting, the hooking up, it has to stop. I can't do that while you're still with Gwen," Merlin said, pulling his pants up in a swift motion.

"It'll be next to impossible for me to leave you alone now that I know your magic talents extend beyond the classroom," Arthur said, helping Merlin zip the fly of his jeans.

"Likewise." Merlin flushed. "But—"

"—Merlin, I'm not kidding. I—"  
"—Don't," Merlin said, grabbing their shirts from where they were draped over the headrests. "Please don't make this harder than it already is. I've told you my decision, Arthur. That's all there is to it."

Arthur felt a sickening pang of guilt in his gut. But, really, what had he expected? For Merlin to fall head over heels for him after a fuck? To agree to do whatever he wanted, overlooking the weight of the enormous lie they'd created?

He tossed on his shirt. "Fine. If it's what you want, Merlin. I promise not to grope you anymore."

Merlin huffed, searching for his left sock under the passenger's seat. "Don't say it like that, it's not what I want. But it's what's best, for everyone’s sake."

Arthur nodded, lingering beside Merlin, letting the memory of their night fill him up until he felt he could burst. "Well then," he said, stealing a kiss on Merlin's cheek, for what he feared would be the last time. "It's four a.m. Let's get you home."

*

When Arthur and Merlin arrived at the apartment, it was to the comforting darkness of a turned-off porch light. Merlin ducked under the overhang, water droplets splattering his scalp from the second story. He shook his head, breath clouding the crisp air as he peeled his feet out of his sneakers.

Arthur hesitated at the front door, the weight of the night suddenly falling heavy on his conscience. Tonight he—they—had gotten what they'd desired, but at what cost? He kicked out of his own shoes, not caring where they landed, and pulled his keys from his pocket. How could he just step back into normal life when there was still so much left to say?

Merlin clasped Arthur's hand, keys and all, as if reading his mind. The touch of his warm fingers reminded Arthur of the connection they shared. They didn't need words. Whatever this thing was between them, it was deeper than speech could convey.

Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand once, hard, before loosening his grip. With a reluctant sigh, Arthur slid the key in the lock, turned the door handle as quietly as possible and—

"—Where on earth were you two!" Gwen shouted.

Arthur's double-take at Gwen had him stumbling back outside, straight into Merlin. Gwen was seated on the couch, the lace rim of a nightgown peeking out under her yellow robe. Her face was taut with anger.  
"It doesn't take four hours to pick Merlin up from the station. I've been worried half to death!" she hissed.

At the opposite end of the couch, to Merlin and Arthur's joint surprise, sat Lance. He was fully dressed, but hurriedly, Arthur gathered, seeing as his shirt had been put on backwards, a white tag sticking out at his throat. In any other situation Arthur would have mocked Lance for it, but now hardly seemed the time.

"Are you my mother now?" Arthur said mildly, helping a dazed Merlin off the ground. "And what's Lancelot doing here, playing the father?"

"More like helping me look for your ass," Gwen said. "Since neither one of you could be bothered to pick up your phones. I was afraid you'd gotten into an accident! I've had poor Lance driving up and down the city searching for your car—" She trailed off, face twisting as she examined them closer.

Arthur and Merlin were fully dressed, but that didn't say much. Arthur's pajama bottoms were so wet they barely held up on his hips, his T-shirt muddied with hand prints. Merlin's clothes were similar; the hem of his jeans caked in dirt, his neck—for once in Merlin's life—surprisingly scarf-less.

"So," Gwen continued, arms folding across themselves. "Want to tell me why you both look like swamp thing?"

Arthur's jaw clenched. Damn it. He'd been so preoccupied in his pursuit of Merlin that he hadn't fleshed out their cover. He swallowed, stared deep into his girlfriend's eyes and said, "I dragged Merlin to the White Horse bar for a drink. I didn't think you'd mind, seeing as I went to the trouble to pick him up. But this idiot hid my keys and wouldn't give them back until I'd sobered up."

"And you're muddy because?" Lance ventured.

"Because Arthur is a prick and never listens to me!" Merlin replied, pallid. "He tried to walk all the way home. You can see how well that went in the storm."

"Arthur, what is wrong with you?" Gwen said. "Dragging poor Merlin out to a dive bar when you know he doesn't like to drink! You're a terrible influence, you know that?"

More than you'll ever know, Arthur thought.

"Whereas Lancelot here should be nominated for sainthood," she continued, hugging Lancelot briefly from behind. Lance, for all his normal composure, turned red as a beet under Gwen’s praise.  
Realization smacked Arthur as fast as a beer can to the head. He put his mind on rewind, combing for clues. Yes, it was all there. Lance in the gallery, the lingering kiss on Gwen's hand. The glimmer of jealousy Arthur had seen behind Lance’s eyes that night, as if he'd already pinned Arthur as a competitor. Competition—yes—Arthur had read that much right. It was the person he'd gotten wrong. 

It was never Merlin that Lance was after. It was Gwen.

"Why don't you crash here tonight, Lance?" Gwen said, sliding off the couch. "No point in driving home this late." She turned to Arthur, pulling him by the neckline of his shirt. "And you, Arthur Pendragon, I'll deal with in private."

"I'll get blankets for Lance," Merlin said, seeming to relish an excuse to leave the room.

*

Sun spilled in from the window, disturbing the human lump on the couch. Lance shook off his blanket, letting his eyes focus in on the light. 

White walls. An easel in the corner caked in paint. This wasn't his bedroom, Lance thought slowly. Heck, this wasn't even his apartment. 

The memories of the previous night came back to him. The desperate call from Gwen, searching for Merlin and Arthur. The hug. The deeper suspicions about Merlin and Arthur’s story that had gnawed at him.

The living room was filled with the aroma of hot coffee and another smell Lance couldn't place. Spying movement in the kitchen, he asked in a gravely voice, "Merlin, are you baking?"

Merlin peeked his head out of the kitchen doorway. He was dressed in his usual jeans, a striped shirt unbuttoned with nothing underneath. "Vegan pancakes. They’re already on the table." Merlin said with his usual goofy smile. "There's coffee for everyone as well."

"Why? You don't drink it."

"Force of habit from work," Merlin replied, pouring a cup of coffee and leaving it on the dining table for Lance. "Why don't you eat before it gets cold? It's seven already."

Lance trudged into the dining room, his body aching in places he didn't think muscles could hurt. 

"Thanks, Mer," he said groggily. He took a seat, blowing steam off his cup. "Man, what a night. Huh?"

"How did you sleep on the couch?" Merlin asked. He sat down next to Lancelot, tucking into a plate of pancakes.

Lance ignored another stiff complaint from his back and said, "Let's just say staying awake through art history is going to be a challenge, even caffeinated. I don't know how you can think about cooking after so little sleep."

Merlin shrugged, chewing. "I'm used to late nights.”

Lancelot glanced down the hallway. He knew the woman he loved was behind one of those doors, sleeping in the arms of another man, a man who didn't deserve her. He could only hope that Gwen had ripped Arthur a new one for how poorly he'd treated her last night.

"About last night, Merlin," Lance said, looking into deep his friend's eyes. "You weren't out drinking with Arthur, were you?"

"No. I didn't have anything to drink, if that's what you mean," Merlin replied evenly.

"What I meant is, you weren't the only one dead sober when you and Arthur walked into the apartment last night."

Color filled Merlin's face. He stopped eating, and clambered to his feet. “I should really finish those pancakes. I don’t think I made enough—"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. "Mer,” he said sternly. “What really happened? Between you and Arthur?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Pausing, Lancelot took a sip of the coffee, and then asked, "Did Arthur pick a fight with you last night?"

"Of-of course not," Merlin stuttered.

"Come on. It’s obvious that you two got into a scuffle. You're both home late, looking like hell, your hand prints are all over each others shirts..."

"I need to cook," Merlin said, making for the kitchen.

"He didn't threaten you, did he? Because of your orientation?" Lance touched Merlin’s arm gently. "Because if he did—"

"—Will you just shut up! Do you have any idea how moronic you sound?"  
Lance's jaw dropped. He’d never heard Merlin so irritated with him before, not even when they were roommates and he'd spilled cranberry juice on Merlin's favorite shirt.

Lance looked down at his coffee, searching for words. How could he have gotten this wrong? Licking his lips, he said, "You told me the day you picked Arthur up from the airport that you two got into an argument."

"So?" Merlin frowned. "We argue all the time."

"Well, I just assumed—"

“—Then you assumed wrong."

Lancelot pushed his cup back. "Merlin, I'm only trying to look out for you."

"I'm adult, I can look after myself." Merlin sighed, slouching back into his seat. "Arthur and I went to the White Horse so he could have a drink, there's nothing more to it. I know you're eager to find fault in Arthur because of Gwen, but try to remember that he's my friend, too. Arthur may be tactless, but he's not a monster."

Tactless? Thought Lance, avoiding Merlin's angry gaze. Now there's an understatement.

Something creaked in the hallway.

"Gwen?" Merlin called. "Breakfast is ready if you want to—"

"She's sleeping, and I'd say she deserves at least fifteen more minutes before we wake her," Arthur said, appearing in the doorway.

Lancelot tensed as Arthur walked into the dining room. The rivals assessed one another openly, until a sneeze from Merlin broke the staring contest.

“Shoot.” Merlin sniffled. “I forgot your pancakes and Gwen’s in the kitchen, Arthur.”

"Let me help you with that," Arthur said, walking into the kitchen and picking up two pancake plates. "Where do you want these?"

"Um, the bigger ones for you," Merlin replied hastily. "The smaller one is Gwen's, but you can leave that in the microwave. I'll heat it up for her when she's ready."

Arthur nodded, his complexion was bright. Lancelot noticed that Arthur was fully dressed, right down to his leather belt and socks. Merlin followed Arthur back into the kitchen and poured him a cup of coffee, sneezing into his sleeve again as they both sat back down at the table.  
"Catching a cold, Merlin?" Arthur asked, without once looking at Merlin now seated across from him.

"Can't afford to." Merlin answered again, sniffling.

Lancelot finished his meal, quickly. The last thing he wanted was to dine with a pissy Merlin, Mr. Abercrombie, and whatever lies were festering between them. If any more information was to be had, he'd find out from Merlin in due time.

"If the bathroom's free, I'll go wash up," Lance announced. "And Mer, if you change your mind about what we were discussing earlier, just give me a call, okay?"

*

"Just give me a call?" Arthur mocked, once Lancelot was safely out of hearing range.

"Oh, please." Merlin yawned. "He didn't mean it like that."

"And what did he mean it like?" Arthur said, squirting a waterfall of organic maple syrup onto his pancake plate.

"You do know that Lance and I aren't and never were a couple, yes?"

"Gwen enlightened me on that subject days ago. So what was that tension between you two about, then?"

"Lance knows the White Horse bar ruse was a lie."

Arthur suspended his fork in mid air, syrup dripping down his hand.

"Don't worry," Merlin said, wolfing down the cold ruins of his own pancakes. "He doesn't suspect anything. In fact, he thinks you tried to beat me up last night."

"He wouldn't be entirely wrong.” Arthur sucked a sticky pearl of syrup off his index finger, then said, “We did spend a fair amount of last night on top of each other."

Merlin choked, tea dribbling down his chin.

"So he's digging for dirt, huh?” continued Arthur. “Can't say that I blame him. If Lance could prove that I kicked your scrawny ass, it would certainly help his chances with Gwen."

"You know about that?" Merlin squeaked, grabbing a paper towel to blot his face.  
"Lance is pretty transparent with his affection. We could teach him a thing or two about being discreet."

"And you're not mad?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"Because you practically ripped my head off when you thought I was hooking up with Gwen!"

“That was different," Arthur replied, toying with Merlin's feet underneath the table. "That was you. Do you think I could stand the idea of Gwen hooking up with you first, before I ever got the chance?”

He rubbed his calf against Merlin's leg, stopping when Merlin blossomed into a spectacular blush. "Although I admit," Arthur continued, lowering his voice. "Picturing you during sex, Merlin, even with a woman, was an incredible turn on for me."

Merlin sucked in a breath and said weakly, "You promised no flirting."

"That wasn't flirting. That was statement of fact. And besides, it's very difficult to behave when you tempting me." Arthur smirked, gesturing to Merlin's open shirt.

Merlin hurriedly did up his buttons. "Temptation dissolved. Now, we need to get ready for class."

"When do your studio's finish today?"

"Seven. Why?"

"Can you get Gwen to leave for home with you? I want to have a talk with Nimueh. Alone."

Merlin's face fell. "I can try. I have work at eight. With all the rain, Gwen might be willing to give me a ride back home if I asked, but Arthur, I don't think talking with Nimueh will help. She's a nasty piece of work. Studio supplies disappear around her, she talks back to the teachers. To be honest, I don't like the idea of you being left alone with her."

"Nimueh is my problem," Arthur said sternly. "Let me take care of her."

A shadow crept into the dining room, silencing Merlin and Arthur mid conversation. Lance's shirt had been fixed so that is was no longer inside-out, his wavy hair brushed clean. He stared at Merlin and Arthur then said, "Merlin, do you have any deodorant I can use?"

Merlin licked his lips. "Um, I keep a stick of Tom's Of Maine in the—"  
"Don't bother," Arthur interrupted. "Unless you want to smell like a forest spirit all day. I've got Axe body spray under the sink."

Lance nodded. "Thanks.”

"And, Lance," Arthur continued, stabbing what was left of his breakfast with his fork. "I feel terrible about Gwen dragging you out of bed to drive in that storm last night."

"It was nothing."

"No, it may have been unnecessary, but that doesn't make it nothing," Arthur replied briskly. "Gwen's a lucky woman to have such a devoted friend. Thank you for helping her."

Lancelot looked so startled, one would assume he'd just been punched rather than complimented. "Um… you're welcome," he finally managed.

"Arthur, did you actually apologize for something?" Merlin asked once they were alone again. "I didn't think you knew how."

Arthur shrugged. "I'm not a complete tool.” 

"Debatable," Merlin said.

"Your friend is alright," Arthur replied, making certain Lance was really in the bathroom before he said it. He shoved another bite of pancakes into his mouth. "Not bad looking, either. Nothing compared to you, of course, but I can see why Gwen would call him. Maybe you should invite Lance over more often, Merlin. You know, when Gwen's around."

“You're not thinking--"

"Oh no. I've nothing specific in mind." Arthur smirked, ruffling Merlin's hair as he stood and cleared their dirty dishes. "But it couldn't hurt to nudge the two of them a little closer together? Could it?"

"There is something seriously wrong with you, Arthur." Merlin said, shaking his head.

"Agreed," Arthur replied, kissing Merlin on the cheek before he had a chance to object. "It's got messy hair, adorable ears, and it’s brooding at the dining table as we speak."

*

Arthur watched students exit the school in clusters. Skaters surfed their boards, their bodies lost in over-sized sweaters, and a posse of girls giggled at him, stealing admiring looks.  
Arthur popped up his shirt collar, shifting his position on the brick wall across from the school building as he checked the weather on his phone. 54 degrees, zero chance of snow, and bright enough to wear a pair of sunglasses. They call this winter in northern California? He'd read online they were getting inches of white stuff back home. He could only hope that his father had forced Morgan to do all the snow shoveling in his absence.

Arthur pulled his sunglasses down, flashing a smile at a sauntering redhead as she exited the school building. "Hey, Nimueh, where you off to?"

It read like bad pickup line, and it certainly didn't help that Nimueh, with her four-inch heels and blunt bangs, looked like a Suicide Girl. But Arthur didn't care what anyone else thought. Nimueh would understand what he wanted from her, and that was all that mattered.

Nimueh whipped her head around, an unlit cigarette dangling from her fat lips. Recognizing Arthur, she stared sourly.

"Got a minute?" Arthur continued, his eyes hidden again by sunglasses.

"My time is precious," Nimueh replied, her voice calm as a hurricane.

"Then how about a drink? On me."

*

"Let's do each other a favor, Blondie, and cut the bullshit," Nimueh said, gulping down her second shot of tequila.

"With pleasure," Arthur replied, swirling the ice in his glass. "The sooner we're done here, the sooner I can stop looking at that mask you call a face."

He had brought Nimueh to an open bar with few patrons and even less decoration. A no frills establishment, with blacked out windows and an open bar. Arthur had found the place by accident a month ago, when everything else within walking distance of school had closed for the night. The servers spoke little English, and though his high-school Spanish was crap at best, Arthur reasoned it was the safest place to take Nimueh without being spotted by anyone they knew.

"You’re a smooth talker," Nimueh replied, sucking the life out of a lime wedge. "That how you broke into Merlin's pants? I take it that little homo showed you my video, and you watched it while you jerked each other off."

"I'd appreciate it if you kept your voice down," Arthur snapped.

"Then I'd appreciate another fucking drink."

"Listen," Arthur said, gesticulating to the bartender to pour her a shot. "I'm giving you a chance to stop this now, Nimueh. I suggest you take it."

She laughed in his face.

"You're taking a huge risk," Arthur pressed. "Have you considered what will happen at school if Merlin gets caught doing your class assignments?"

Nimueh raised a pencil-thin eyebrow at him.

"Merlin's oblivious as hell," Arthur continued. "It could happen."

"I'll drag him down with me, if he's that careless," she replied. "Tell the teachers Merlin was hiring his work out for money. It would be his word against mine."

"Unless someone spoke up for Merlin and told the school what was really going on."

"And why would they?” Nimueh balked. “That someone knows that if he keeps his mouth shut, I keep my fingers from sending a certain video to his girlfriend."

Arthur slammed his empty glass down onto the bar top, the lighting underneath it flickering. The bartender turned in his direction, whispering to a waiter in hurried Spanish.

He bit his lip, letting his anger simmer. "This isn't fair,” he said, as calmly as possible. “If you have to get your kicks screwing someone over about this, that person deserves to be me. Not Merlin."

"Gallant." Nimueh chuckled, stroking her fingers over the top of Arthur's hand. "And they say chivalry is dead. So then, Arthur, what do you have to offer me in return?"

Arthur studied her painted face and said, "Cash."

"Go ahead, lover boy. Open that wallet."

Arthur did just that. He licked his finger, separating the bills. "Not counting what I need to pay for your drinks, I have $170."

Nimueh snatched the wallet from Arthur’s hands. In one swift movement she took the money out, folded bills, and crammed down the front of her tanktop, tossing the empty wallet back to him. 

"I like," Nimueh purred. "But next week I want more."

"If that's what it takes," Arthur replied, laying down what he had saved to cover their bill. He grabbed his backpack off the floor. "So, if we're all done here..."

"One more thing,” Nimueh said. “Tell Merlin that next week he's designing and patterning my assignment for creative design class, too. Why should I soil my hands with all that dirty work?"

Arthur stopped dead in his tracks. "But we just agreed—"

"The only thing we've agreed on is that I have you and Merlin by your fucking balls.” Nimueh smiled. “This is my game, Arthur, my rules. If you want to come out alive, you'll do exactly as I say. I ask, you pay."

Fire filled Arthur's face. The nerves in his hand twitched, the devil on his shoulder begging for him to silence this harpy for good. "You're lucky," he growled, staring at her with unbridled hatred. "If you weren't a women, I swear I'd—"

"You'd what, sodomize me?" She cackled, fishing inside her empty glass and throwing a lime wedge at him. "Get the hell out of my sight, Arthur Pendragon. Back to whoever's bed you're lying in these days."

*

The Café Aroma stood out like a beacon in the thick evening fog. Arthur stood in front of it, the activity of the people inside a shadow show, their silhouettes projected against the curtains. He watched their black figures bob and ebb from view. So many puppets, he thought coldly, too many complicated lives.

Arthur jumped as a tawny tomcat threw itself at his knees, winding in out of his legs and leaving a trail of fur on his pant legs.

He looked down at the cat for a beat, then said gruffly, "Don't give me that. I know you don't work here!"

The cat stared, lunar eyed, at him, replying with a drawling meow. Arthur grabbed the door handle, the cat attacking the hanging bells attached until they chimed.

"Cut it out, this is an eating establishment. I'm not letting you in here," Arthur snapped, trying his best to get inside the café without a feline stowaway. With some gentle prodding of his shoe, he managed to finagle the cat to one side and slip into the café. Alone.

It was crowded inside, customers filling every chair. Most of them appeared to be students, piles of books in their arms, laptop keys clicking furiously. Arthur recognized the pretty girl clearing tables immediately. She was the girl from the first time he'd visited Merlin, the one who had noticed Arthur's roaming eyes.

So, Merlin wasn't working alone tonight. That could complicate things.

Arthur waited his turn in line, looking over a customer's shoulders to steal a peek at Merlin working the espresso machine. Merlin's movements were fluid and well-controlled as he rocked a pitcher against the screaming metal arm of the coffee steamer. For all the grace Merlin lacked in his normal life, he certainly was a master when it came to working with his hands. Arthur could vouch for this now in all things.

The woman in front of Arthur took her latte, leaving him face to face with Merlin. "Your radio's on the fritz," Arthur said the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "I can't hear anything but white noise."

"It's a CD," Merlin replied briskly, "And that's the whole point of the band." He waited for a customer beside Arthur to finish pouring creamer, and then said, "I'll see if Freya can hold down the fort for a few minutes."

*

Merlin grabbed a light sweater for himself, leading Arthur to a poorly fenced area out back. There was a stale perfume of old cigarettes and coffee grinds in the air, but what tickled Arthur's nose most was the dampness.

Merlin leaned against the wall, turned to Arthur and asked, "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"Yes," Arthur replied, falling in next to him. "I do."

"I don't get many breaks."

"Then let's make this one count."

Merlin bit his lip, returning his pack of cigarettes into his jean pocket. "So, how'd it go with She Who Will Not Be Named?"

"You mean, Nimueh?" Arthur frowned. "Badly. For starters, I don't think she appreciated what I said about her face." 

Arthur explained his date from hell to Merlin full detail.  
"God, and Nimueh was awful enough to me today without your help!" Merlin moaned, rubbing his hands furiously through his hair. "Stealing my rulers, my scissors, copying my work step by step! And the writing! She keeps scratching inappropriate notes on all my papers like a junior high bully. I spent half the class erasing them before anyone else noticed."

"What did she write?" Arthur asked, inching himself a little closer.

"Oh you know," Merlin said, kicking a pebble through the fence. "Filthy things about you and..." He trailed off, spotting Arthur's equally filthy grin. "Ugh, why do I even bother? You're as sick as her."

"Hardly. That woman's level of corruption is unparalleled." Sighing, Arthur said, “I tried, Merlin. I really did. I tried to reason with her. I tried money. Nothing worked."

"I know," Merlin whispered in a low voice.

Arthur ran his hand down Merlin's side. He kissed behind Merlin's ear, the side of his face, his neck. Merlin leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, his pulse quickening audibly under Arthur's lips.

"It's barely been a day," Merlin exhaled, neither encouraging nor denying Arthur's advances.

"A day that feels like a lifetime," Arthur breathed.

Something dove at Arthur's legs, making him yelp in surprise. When he turned to face the attacker, he found it standing a mere foot and a half tall.

"Fucking cockblocking cat!" Arthur shouted, stomping in its direction.

"Oh, that's Tom!" Merlin laughed, getting up from the wall to stroke the feline behind his ears. "He lives around here. I feed him smoked salmon when we have leftovers."

"Tom—cat?" Arthur winced, crossing his arms and staring bitterly at the furry menace.

"What, I don't know his real name." Merlin picked up the cat, to its purring delight. "We'd better put Tom back over the fence," he said, an amused grin firmly plastered on his face. "Freya will be ticked off if I stretch my break any longer, or worse yet, she'll think we've been up to something."

"Don’t I wish," Arthur cursed under his breath.


	5. Part 5

Merlin blew at the Bristol paper in his hands, laying his fashion croquis with the others drying out on his comforter. Five leggy women on his bed, five finished looks, not too shabby for an hour's worth of work.

He closed his painting pallet and put his light board on top of his dresser, appraising himself in the tiny mirror atop it. Merlin's smile of triumph faded as he saw his gaunt cheekbones, turning into a full-fledged grimace once he spotted he purplish bags under his eyes.

The past two weeks at school had been difficult for Merlin, but manageable. He'd spent his waking hours in the studio, ironically finding Nimueh's schoolwork an easier burden to bear than the increasing weight of his own guilt when it came to one of his roommates.

Though Merlin's breathing still quickened every time he'd catch Arthur eye-fucking him from across the room, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for Gwen, who was still left in the dark.

Yes, Merlin had learned a lot about himself in two weeks. He'd learned that a human being can survive almost entirely off of cigarettes and tea, and that it’s best to avoid Arthur Pendragon's gaze at all costs. Above all else, Merlin had learned that his guilt manifested itself in the creation of pancakes, which he'd cooked for his roommates for breakfast every morning since he'd slept with Arthur.

Arthur. That very name pestered Merlin.

Merlin felt through his dresser, his hands pausing over a striped shirt folded innocuously on top of the rest of his clothes. It was a shirt that Merlin had promised himself he'd return to its owner—soon—until soon became a day later, and then another, Arthur's 'accountant's shirt' cementing its position as the only shirt Merlin wore to bed each night.

He took it out and touched the shirt-collar to his face, hoping to catch a lingering trace of Arthur's cologne on the fabric. Who as Marlin kidding? It had been weeks since the gallery night. The scent of Arthur was long gone from the garments fibers, but even so, Merlin tucked the shirt safely back into its hiding place.

Gwen was in the living room when Merlin walked in, huffing on her cell phone to someone. Her body was sucked into a spandex ensemble, attractive on a woman with her dramatic curves, a plastic take-out bag slung over her shoulder. Customarily, Gwen jogged with Arthur on the weekends, but today Arthur was working at his easel in the living room, basking in the afternoon sun. It was a rare treat to see Arthur painting with people at home, one that Merlin was loath to pass up.

Arthur's grip tightened around his paintbrush when he saw Merlin, their eyes feeding off of one another, looking, but not looking. He wiped his forehead once with his bicep, the simple gesture oozing masculinity, and sending goosebumps across Merlin's skin.  
How could Merlin not stop and admire the skill of the flat filbert brush in Arthur's hand? Arthur’s stony-faced concentration. His technique. Arthur's every stroke on the canvas as rough and impulsive as his—

"Uh-huh," Gwen groaned loudly into her phone receiver, snapping Merlin from his wet dream. "Well, I warned you not to go back to the scumbag but you—Hm. Fine, Morgan. Fine. Do you want to talk to your brother?"

Arthur's eyes narrowed. He mimed slashing motions at his neck with the handle of his paintbrush.

"Oops. It looks like you just missed Arthur," Gwen said, sticking her tongue out at her boyfriend. "You, too. We’ll talk later. Bye."

Gwen pulled her cellphone from her ear.

"Morgan drama again?" Arthur asked, shaking his head at the phone in Gwen’s hand. "You can hang up on her. That’s what I do."

"I keep telling her not to hook up with her ex," Gwen replied. "But she doesn't listen to a word I say."

"Shocking," Arthur interjected.

"You'd think she'd learn! Morgan’s been burned by Accolon twice in the past, and like I've told her, once a cheater always a cheater."

Arthur's eyes jumped quickly to where Merlin was standing, before settling back on his canvas.

Merlin cleared his throat. "I'm off to the studio," he said, navigating between his roommates before grabbing his reusable tote bag of supplies by the front door. "I’ll be back by midnight."

Gwen wrinkled her nose. "On a Saturday?" 

Nimueh's homework isn't going to magically finish itself, Merlin thought, but he said, "I like working in the studio on the weekends. It's quiet. No one fights over the pressing station."

"Will you at least have a snack with me before you head out?" she asked, settling at the dining room table and picking through her takeout bag. "I picked up sushi from Manpuku for lunch, and it’s not like Mr. Picky over there will help me eat it."

"I like Japanese food," Arthur said. "Just not the seaweed stuff."

Merlin licked his lips. "I shouldn't."

Gwen freed a container from the bag, opening it, and pinched a piece of sushi with her chopsticks. "It's your favorite, Merlin. Cucumber rolls," she said, wiggling the sushi as if she were feeding a baby fussy. "See how much it wants to be eaten?"

"Thanks." Merlin chuckled. "But you can do the honors."

Gwen swirled the roll in soy sauce and popped it in her mouth, eyes closing in ecstasy, clearly over exaggerating its deliciousness as she chewed. "I know you're excited about sewing your piece for the fashion competition, but don't you think you might be going overboard? All you ever do now is work. I mean, when was the last time we hung out? Shopped Berkeley together? We haven't had fun outside of class in ages!"

Merlin's heart rattled in his ribs. He knew perfectly well the last time they'd hung out, before he'd gone and fucked her boyfriend.

"We're seeing a movie on Friday together, remember? Swords Of Our Fathers," Merlin replied, rubbing at his tattoo.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "How could I forget?"

"It got good reviews," Arthur said, wiping his paint-covered hands off on his pants.

"The next roommate movie night, Merlin and I are watching a film with a plot. I'm sick of spending money to see a guy's head lobbed off with a sword. Can’t you watch that crap on Netflix?"

"I hear Orlando Bloom's in this film," Arthur teased.

"Well," Gwen replied. "At least the movie will have one redeeming feature then, won't it, Merlin?"

Merlin gave a faint smile back at Gwen that never touched his eyes.

"Seriously, Merlin, let's make a date to hang out soon. OK?" she pressed.

Merlin nodded at Gwen, feeling for the lighter in his back pocket. He lit up a cig as soon as he was safely out the front door.

Torture, Merlin thought with a shudder, letting smoke float inside his mouth. Smiling. Laughing. Pretending that everything's fine. All the while knowing…

That I love him.  
Love.

Fuck. If this is what love feels like, what’s he to do with it? Hope that Arthur meant what he said about coming out, and smother his aching longing for Arthur for a few more months. Years? How long could he pretend, and hide his feelings from the world? From Gwen?

Did that make him a fake?

He should be used to being single. Alone. It never frightened him before; surely he could go back to that life?

If only love had an off switch.

Merlin blew his cigarette smoke in a long sigh, letting the comforting notes of nicotine on his tongue cover the bitter taste of his guilt. Shit. He should never have slept with Arthur. If he hadn't slept with him, he wouldn't have known what he was missing.

Merlin’s throat constricted. Feeling bad about sleeping with Arthur was a good thing, right? It meant that he had a conscience. And having a conscience meant that Merlin wouldn't let himself get carried away again.

Right?

Merlin stared at the houses he walked past as if they held answers for him. The only sign he received was the trailing growl of a terrier as he walked past its chain link fence.

Who was he kidding? He’d blow Arthur on the design room table if he could get away with it.

Merlin reached frantically for another cigarette. No. This wasn't right. His conviction was is the only thing this love hadn't completely stolen from him. If he lost that to Arthur as well, what part of himself did he have left?

"Hey, you! Stop right there!"

A male voice startled Merlin, making him nearly drop his lit cigarette down his shirt pocket.

"It's against federal law to smoke in train stations!" The balding station guard thundered, throwing out an arm to halt Merlin from moving any further. "I oughtta fine you for having that, kid."

"My bad. I swear it won't happen again,” Merlin whispered. He walked back outside the station to a trashcan. He glanced down at the American Spirit box poking out of his coat pocket. He'd had a full twenty-pack when he'd left the house, but the fifteen-minute walk had whittled Merlin down to seventeen cigarettes.

This business with Arthur was costing Merlin in more ways than he'd ever anticipated.

*

In a parched, yellowed field, metal thudded upon on metal. A guttural cry pierced the air, a sword ripping through a knight's convulsing body. The theater let out a collective gasp as the man frothed his last words. Merlin wiggled in his seat.

The cinema was a local treasure; a three-room structure from the nineteen-thirties, the lobby plastered in posters from a bygone area. Merlin had frequented the place many times, killing his Sunday nights at silent film screenings. The draw of the theater was its vintage charm, but that was also its major flaw. In preserving the building's history, the original seats were kept, coarse wooden slabs without the modern conveniences of padding or drink holders.

Merlin was only half an hour into the film, and already his attention span had worn as thin as his comfort. He sighed at the screen, folding a crane out of his gum-wrapper. 

"These costumes aren't period appropriate," he whispered to Lancelot seated on his right. "Nylon didn't exist in that time period. It’s a synthetic polymer."

Lancelot nodded politely, but Merlin wasn't convinced that he was listening. He'd invited Lance to the movie with the expectation that he'd be equally bored by the medieval gore fest, but Lance's unblinking gaze told Merlin otherwise.

When a flight of dragons descended upon the hero, Gwen cuddled into Arthur's shoulder. Merlin and Lance frowned in unison as she made her own medieval assault, on Arthur's lips, Merlin trying to mentally deafen to the gross smacking sounds their kissing made.

Was this spectacle as torturous for Lance as it was for him?

Merlin understood that this affection was— for Arthur at least— a necessity more than pleasure. But that didn't make it easier to watch. He unfolded his gum-wrapper crane, imagining what would happen after the movie. Would Arthur retreat to Gwen's bedroom after a few drinks, and Merlin back to his pathetic single mattress—alone?

After Merlin had seen as much PDA as he could stomach, he cleared his throat and announced loudly, "I can't believe I just saw four-square-hole buttons on that dress! You'd think the costume department would know that buttons from that time period were mounted on a shank!"

Arthur pulled away from Gwen, as if on cue. "Give your mouth a rest, Merlin. Eat some popcorn!"

Merlin cracked his gum in his mouth as another head rolled across the screen. "I'd love to, but someone put butter on it."

Letting go of Gwen's hand, Arthur turned to Merlin and asked, "And how was I supposed to know that you don't eat butter?"

"Butter, Arthur. It's in the food group called dairy. It’s basic food pyramid logic that any child would know."

Gwen squealed. "That dragon's going to chomp Orlando!" she cried, falling back into Arthur's arms.

Lancelot pushed Merlin's knees down, leaning over his lap. "Don't worry, Gwen, he's the title character," he commiserated. "Movies never kill off their title characters."

"What about One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest?" Merlin replied. "And Dancer In The Dark. The Shining...and let's not forget Romeo And Juliet. Both main characters kick the bucket in that one."

Arthur smiled at Merlin, first with his eyes and then with his lips. "Aren't we cheery?" he said, flicking a piece of popcorn at Merlin's head.

Merlin frowned, blowing a giant pink bubble. "Nasty! That piece had butter on it."

"It's not real butter," Arthur replied. He chucked five more pieces at Merlin in quick succession.

"Well, in that case." Merlin thrust his hand into the popcorn tub, jamming a fistful of popcorn down Arthur's jacket.

Arthur yelped, spilling the tub on the floor as he stood. He pounced on top of Merlin.

"What are you two, five?" Gwen grit through clenched teeth.

"Are not." Arthur pouted, grinding popcorn into Merlin's scalp. "Besides, Merlin started it."

"No, you started it," Merlin countered, his head trapped in Arthur's loose hold. "And you made my swallow my gum! I could have choked to death."

"Then it's a good thing you're not a title character, Merlin."

A woman a row behind them gave the group a forceful, Shhhh.

Lance's expression soured he stood up. "Enough,” he said, prying Merlin and Arthur apart. "Merlin, you’re going to stop talking during the movie. Some of us are trying to watch it."

Arthur smirked as Lancelot added, "And Arthur, you’re going to act like an adult, let go of Merlin, and buy us more popcorn to replace what you spilled."

Unused to taking orders from the likes of Lancelot, Arthur furrowed his brow. Gwen stared daggers at him until he shrugged his agreement, brushing kernels from his clothes as he plodded towards the aisle.

Merlin fumbled out of his seat, trailing Arthur like a lost puppy.

"And where are you going?" Arthur balked.

Merlin grinned. "To make sure you buy popcorn without butter this time." 

*

Arthur held open the double doors for Merlin, the illusion of his gentility crumbling as he spanked Merlin playfully on the ass before entering the lobby.

"What the heck was that for?" Merlin said, rubbing his backside.

Arthur tossed the empty popcorn bucket in the trash nonchalantly, as if he hadn't done anything wrong. "For flirting. If I remember correctly, we aren't to be doing that. Or have you changed your mind?" he asked reproachfully.

"I wasn't flirting. I was defending myself!"

Arthur wrapped his arm around Merlin's shoulder. "I know flirting when I see it, Merlin."

Merlin's silence was unlike him. After a moment he grumbled, "I hate it when you kiss Gwen. I hate watching."

Arthur’s arm went rigid. "Merlin, I have to."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," Merlin said, shrugging Arthur's arm off him.

"Are you jealous?"

Merlin scoffed loudly. He shook his head. "No. Why would I be jealous? Just because you and Gwen kiss each other, and hold hands in public, and—"

"You're jealous," Arthur chuckled. "Do you have any idea how cute that is?"

Before Merlin could counter, Arthur held Merlin’s hand, hauling Merlin up a carpeted staircase to the second level of the theater.

"The concession stand is downstairs," Merlin said, eying the flashing red text above the theater door. "And this is the same movie, Swords Of Our Fathers. The same theater room."

"Is it?" Arthur replied. He guided Merlin through the door, to an empty back-aisle seat at the balcony level.

Merlin's pulse quickened. "Arthur, if you wanted to go back in and watch the movie, why are we up here, and not down with everyone else?"

The chair creaked as Arthur leaned back in it. "Let's pretend we're on a date," he whispered to Merlin in a deep no-nonsense voice.

"A date?"

"Yeah. It'll be fun," Arthur said, playing with the nautical buttons on Merlin's peacoat. "Or are pretend dates against your no screwing-around rule too?"

Merlin gave Arthur a despairing look.

"Gwen and Lance can't see us up here. Their seats are too far back," Arthur pressed. "Merlin, all I'm asking for is fifteen minutes to enjoy your company. That's it."

"Out of sheer morbid curiosity,” Merlin said, licking his lips. “How would this 'pretend date' of yours start?"

"I'm not sure. I've never been on a date with a man. Enlighten me, how does that work? Who holds open the door for whom?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "It works the same as any other date. And you know it."

"Okay," Arthur said, his eyes warm and intent. "Then why don't you start first, and describe it to me?"

"As usual, make me do all the hard work," Merlin replied, crossing his ankle over his knee. "You pick me up at seven, and we'll go to one of those restaurants on Shattuck Avenue with the good Yelp reviews."

Arthur grinned, moving his arm to couple with Merlin's on the armrest. "That brick pub all the UCB kids go to isn't half bad. The one with the ivy crawling up the side. We can sit on the second floor with the blue stained glass windows, and read over the menu while you avoid looking at me. Like you're doing now."

Merlin's eyelashes fluttered. "I’m not avoiding you."

Arthur lifted his hand, and stroked the side of Merlin’s face with this fingers, letting his thumb come to rest at the smooth indentation under Merlin's lower lip. He lifted Merlin’s chin up, gently, and asked, "Then look me in the eyes for a change, and I'll tell you what you're wearing."

The violin music score in the movie arched, the leading man on screen sopping-wet and stripped down to his tunic. His love interest halfheartedly protested the rugged hero's advances.

"You're wearing the teal scarf I first saw you in at the airport, and your black v-neck,” Arthur continued. “When you drink from your glass, it slips down, and I can see your collarbones. The dusting of black hair on your chest.” Arthur licked his lips, his voice going hoarse. “Just that glimpse gets me going. It makes me think about everything hidden under your clothes and what I want to do to you when you're out of them."

When Arthur let go of Merlin's face, Merlin's cheeks reddened.

"Now," he asked, leaning leisurely back into his seat. "What do you want me to wear, Merlin?"

Merlin swallowed, hard. "Your jeans. The ones with the paint stains and the shredding, there," he said, gesturing to a spot on Arthur's thigh. "And your plaid shirt."

"Last week you said it made me look like a colorblind lumberjack.”

Shaking his head, Merlin sputters, "I like that shirt. You never do up the first three buttons and it drives me—"

"—Go on," Arthur said, resting a hand on top of Merlin's to steady his compulsive tapping.

Merlin turned his face away from Arthur, pretending to watch the film again. In a defeated voice, he whispered, "That shirt drives me crazy. You know it does. Everything about you drives me crazy."  
Arthur chuckled. "Then let’s finish our dinner with drinks. A glass of red wine each to relax. Napa style. After dinner we'll go to the movies, but I don't give a damn what's playing. In fact this time I think I’ll recommend a movie I know we'll hate." 

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur leaned in closer. His lips pressed against Merlin's ear. "I'll take you inside the theater, Merlin, to the back row, just like this. There's hardly anyone here, but for propriety's sake I'll wait until the lights dim before I do this,” he said, resting his hand on Merlin's thigh.

The love scene on screen erupted into full passion. Merlin's chest rose and fell with the music, his body going rigid as Arthur began to massage his thigh. 

"There are people here," Merlin exhaled, glancing quickly at three figures in the front row.

"I don't' care," Arthur breathed, his face inches away from Merlin’s. "Tonight I want to push you, as far as you're willing to go."

He slipped his hand under the edge of Merlin's coat, brushing his fingers over the bulge peeking out of Merlin's low-rise jeans.

"I'm sorry I made you jealous," Arthur said, continuing his teasing. "But you don't need to be. I think about you, all the time, Merlin. That night in the car. I think about it when I'm in class, on the train, in the shower—fuck. Sometimes it makes me so hard I can barely stand."

Merlin stared intently at the screen. He chewed his bottom lip.

"I think about everything. The way you smile at me when we get off the train together. How you cut off the crusts of your bread when you make rice toast in the morning. Your ears, how sensitive I know they are.”

Merlin closed his eyes, his nostrils quivering.

“Do you think about me like that, Merlin?" Arthur pressed, voice becoming shallow. "Even...even a little?"

In an explosion of movement, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck, kissing him open-mouthed, filthy. Their noses brushed, lips making soft wet noises every time they parted for air. It was a different kind of intimacy, savory, and needy. The caresses lacking the aggression of the gallery and the night in the car.

"Merlin," Arthur said, nuzzling into Merlin's neck with a broken chuckle. "My Merlin. Do you know how much I've missed you?"

"Why?" Merlin asked, his voice thick. "Arthur, of all the people you could—"

Arthur kissed Merlin into silence. "I'd ask you the same," he panted." I've given you plenty of reasons to hate me."

Merlin shook his head, leaning up again to meet Arthur’s mouth. "I could never hate you," he mumbled against Arthur's lip. "But sometimes I feel like there's two of you. The fake Arthur you feel that people expect, and the person you actually are."

"So what's the difference?" Arthur whispered. "Between the two?"

"Fake Arthur is Gwen's," Merlin said with a melancholy smile. "But real Arthur… he’s all mine."

Arthur shivered as Merlin’s hand slipped into one of his deep coat pockets. He rubbed the growing tent in Arthur’s jeans up and down through the thin coat lining, Arthur glancing around before casually unzipping his fly to better sense of Merlin's touch.

Merlin was taking his time, as he did with everything important to him, stroking Arthur with a soft precision, without alerting the college kids in the front row.

Arthur's breathing hardened with his cock. The front of his boxers damped with pearls of pre-cum as he enjoyed his precious minutes with Merlin, pretending.

"How should our date end?" Arthur said, sucking in gasps of air.

"Your pretend date," Merlin whispered.

"We can go back to the second floor, forget this ever happened. Or," Arthur swallowed and jerked up, hardly able to speak. "Sneak into the handicapped bathroom?"

*

Arthur had never sucked a man off before and it was deceptively simple.

He unzipped Merlin's pants and pulled his boxers down, Merlin's impressive erection catching on the fabric, smacking against his pale stomach as it was freed from the cloth.

A fresh wave of lust washed over Arthur as he worked the velvety shaft. Damn it. Even Merlin's dick was pretty.

Arthur knelt on a nest of paper towels Merlin had made for him on the bathroom floor, trying to recall every filthy thing he’d enjoyed when he got head. He remembered where girls had put their lips, their hands. The tongue tricks that Merlin had given Arthur that night in the car to drive him absolutely mad.

He toyed with Merlin a bit, lubing him with licks before taking Merlin into his mouth. He’d never felt inexperienced when it came to sex, but this territory was completely foreign to Arthur. Half of him wondered if he was fucking things up, but the blissful expression on Merlin's face eased that insecurity.

Merlin let out a half whimper as Arthur really got the hang of it, guiding Merlin deeper down his throat.

Merlin cradled the back of Arthur's head as Arthur took him in, but the minute Arthur looked up at Merlin he let go, as if he was afraid the touch would offend. Arthur guided Merlin's hands back into his hair, feeling Merlin's fingers massage his scalp, holding desperately onto as Arthur quickened his pace.

"Can I," Merlin pleaded, his voice a ghost of his former self. "...in your mouth?"

Arthur nodded, and with a few short thrusts Merlin spent, gasping his enjoyment with a loud exhale and a sob. Arthur swallowed the current of warm salty fluid, Merlin's fingers unwinding from his hair. He stood to meet his lover.

Sure, he was a little sickened with the taste, but knowing that he could satisfy Merlin in some small way, after all the torture he'd been put him through—it made it worth it. Arthur supported Merlin's body as he tugged up his jeans, Merlin's legs still spindly from orgasm.

"Good?" Arthur asked, with a bit too much hesitance.

Merlin unbuckled Arthur's belt as if that were an answer itself. "Sure you haven't done that before?" 

"Not on that end," Arthur replied.

“You’re a natural, as I suspected." Merlin smiled, slowly unzipping Arthur's fly. "But now it's my turn."

*

"I’m sorry you had to do that, Lance," Gwen said, shaking popcorn off her skirt once Arthur and Merlin had left the theater. "Some days I feel more like Arthur's keeper than his girlfriend."

Lance reached his arm over the empty seats between them, offering Gwen a box of Junior Mints. "It's not like Mer was acting any better," he replied. "But I can see how putting up with that kind of behavior from a boyfriend could be embarrassing."

Gwen took the box. She shook a few sticky chocolates into her palm, muttering, "Arthur’s not like that all the time."

Lance frowned. The music arched as the scenery around the characters changed. The on screen lovers were in a cave, or a dungeon now. Gwen couldn't say which because, she hadn't paid her full attention to the movie since Arthur had left.

She popped another chocolate into her mouth, letting the minty filling tingle against her tongue. "You don't have to pretend, Lance," she said. "It's obvious that you can't stand Arthur."

She heard Lance's breath catch, his cologne perfuming the air between them. 

"I don't hate Arthur," Lance said. "I just… how do I put this tactfully? I think he's not very respectful towards you. You could do better."

Gwen stared at Lance at his soft tumble of brown hair, the rugged hint of stubble on his square jaw. "Arthur and I have been together for three years," she said slowly.

"And is that only reason you're still with him?"

"I suppose you know someone who could make me happier," Gwen countered, tapping the candy box in her hand. "Is that it?"

It was a low blow. She knew how Lancelot felt about her, In fact, for years Gwen had expected a full confession from him. It was a confession half of her dreaded, the other half secretly longing for. 

"Gwen, why did you ask me to help you look for Arthur and Merlin the night they disappeared?" Lance asked.

The question surprised her. Gwen licked her lips, staring up at the screen. "I don't know. I just knew you'd help me if I called."

"So," Lance said, resting his hand on his knee. "You knew I'd be willing to drive out in the middle of a storm, late at night, and help you look for your boyfriend, even though I’m not fond of him?"

Gwen nodded.

"In other words, you thought that I'd do anything for you, no questions asked, no return favors necessary?"

Gwen's mouth parted, a blush stealing into her high cheeks. What a rotten trick.

"I guess," she replied, crossing her legs.

A smile found its way back to Lance's face. "I'm glad. Because you're right."

The love scene on screen erupted into full passion. Gwen took the opportunity to stretch over the empty seats and hand Lance back his box of Junior Mints.

"Keep it," Lance said, looking back at the movie screen. "It's the least I can do. Though I wish you'd let me offer you more than a box of half finished chocolates."

Gwen pretended to be engrossed in the film again. It seemed like ages before she finally heard the sound of feet padding down the aisle.

"Took you long enough," she called to Arthur.

"Long line at the snack stand, and Merlin needed to take a piss," Arthur said, heaping a pile of treats into Gwen's arms. "Fill me, in who still has their limbs? I got Red Vines, nachos and—"

Gwen leaned in quickly to give Arthur a kiss but he pulled back, her lips meeting the front end of a straw instead. 

"Diet Coke." Arthur swallowed, holding onto the cup and insisting she take a drink.

"And the popcorn?" Lance asked.

Merlin glided into his seat, looking pallid, even for him. He took a suck off his own Cherry Icy and mumbled, "Um, we forgot the popcorn."

"Merlin, how could you forget the—"

"—It's fine," Gwen said, letting her eyes meet Lance's briefly. "The chocolates were more than enough."

*

Arthur looked at Merlin eagerly over the screen of his laptop. "You're half an hour late," he called from the couch to the back of the fashion studio.

Merlin's mop of dark hair was just visible over the bags piled in his arms. "I fell asleep on the BART," he replied, juggling his belongings. "When I woke up I was sprawled on the floor and in San Bruno—" 

A ruler tumbled from Merlin’s bag, and he scrambled to retrieve it. A few of his classmates chuckled their sympathy as Merlin dropped even more in the process.

Arthur closed his recap video of the Notre Dame vs. USC game, shutting his laptop. "What's in the bags?" he asked, getting off of the couch to lend a hand. "It looks like you packed your whole room."

Merlin scooped the rest of his tools off the floor. "I brought my sewing supplies home last night to work, so I had to bring them all back in for today."

Arthur culled the heavier bags from Merlin's arms, laying the burden down on the closest patterning table. He'd considered telling Merlin how, in spite of Arthur’s regular classes, an appointment in the rapid prototyping lab to make a 1/8 scale model of a fan, and dinner-date with Gwen, he'd managed to arrive a full half an hour early for Merlin's fitting appointment. He also considered telling Merlin that it’d been torture not seeing him, even though it was just a busy weekend that had kept Merlin away.

Arthur didn't tell Merlin any of this, instead he quietly assessed his two biggest threats in the room. Gwen, patterning at one of the tables, was a “level blue”, a general risk. Nimueh was another matter.

Arthur had done his best to ignore Nimueh when he came into the fashion studio with Gwen. He made a beeline for the couches, pretended he had his own assignments to finish, which was technically true. Nimueh, to her credit, seemed content ignoring Arthur, though he attributed that to a payment of two hundred dollars he’d given her the day before, rather than a newly-found sense of morality. 

However, something had changed in Nimueh's expression when Merlin stumbled into the studio. Her eyes fixed on him, staring past the sewing machines. Nimueh was a “code orange” at least—a high-level terror threat.

Once Merlin was free of his belongings, he strapped a pincushion bracelet to his wrist, leading Arthur behind a shoji screen.

"You can change back here. It's private," Merlin said, draping a pair of pants over the top of the screen.

Arthur stuck his fist through an apple-sized hole in the rice paper screen. "Private?" he inflected.  
Merlin grinned. "Private enough. I'll be fitting a pair of pants on you tonight, and a dress shirt. If we get through that, I have half a coat we can start on."

Arthur grunted. 

“Let’s play things by ear,” Merlin replied.

Arthur unlaced his sneakers. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders in a fluid movement, and then stripped out of his well-washed jeans. He stretched languidly against the screen in nothing but his boxers, waiting for Merlin to stop blabbing and take notice of him.

"Heads up on the pants, they have a zipper but expect the waistband to be loose," Merlin said, digging through his supply bags. "It's impossible to fit a pair of pants to these stupid dress-forms; even the male forms give you a womanly hip curve, but that's where you—"

To Arthur's pleasure, Merlin went mute when he saw him.

"Anything to help," Arthur replied, putting his arms behind his head with a grin.

Merlin smirked, tossing the first muslin mock-up at Arthur’s face. "We don't have that kind of time."

Arthur caught it easily. He shook out the muslin pant, wiggling it up his legs. "Tight," he winced, zipping up the fly.

"They’re supposed to be," Merlin said, handing Arthur the shirt next. "Button that up all the way, even the cuffs."

"Yes dear," Arthur crooned. He followed Merlin’s instructions and then made a full turn, looking down at himself. "Hey, Merlin, are these pants supposed to be see-through? Christ, I can see my junk through this thing."

"That isn't going to be a problem, is it?" Merlin asked. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at Merlin, Merlin adding, "Like I told you before this is just a sample. The real fabric will be denim."

"Good. It's hard to tell with you spacey fashion types, I thought you might be starting a new trend. Transparent chic."

"If I was, I'd have picked the right model for it."

Merlin led Arthur away from the semi-privacy of the shoji screen and into the heart of the studio. The speakers had been cranked up, the room resembling a sweatshop and a club all at once. The female design students, as usual, were treating Arthur's arrival as the main entertainment of the evening.

Merlin ran his fingers down Arthur's broad chest, pinching loose pockets of fabric and pinning the excess as he went. "The shirt looks good," he said, creating a gleaming row of pins from Arthur's armpit down to his waist. He prodded the space between Arthur's neck and his collar. "How's the neck feel?"

"Like any other shirt," Arthur replied dully.

"Good answer.” Merlin grabbed a pillow and tossed it next to Arthur's legs, dropping to his knees to pluck at the fabric along Arthur's outer thigh.

"You're making the pants skinnier?" Arthur asked, staring up at the ceiling.

"As tight as they'll get. Now close your eyes and count to ten,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur wondered if that was a joke or warning, realizing which when Merlin slipped his hand halfway down the front Arthur's pants to gauge the fit of them.

"Perv," Arthur mouthed wordlessly, flinching as Merlin's fingers tickled right below his bellybutton.

"You wish," Merlin mouthed back, continuing his task.

"You'd better not make me hard," Arthur whispered.

Merlin glanced around the classroom, slipping his hand further down the pants until Arthur sucked in air through his teeth, shivering.

"Damn it, Merlin," he hissed. "I'm doing you a favor here. Don't tempt me."

Merlin quickly withdrew, color leaving his face. "Don’t say that so loud," he whispered. "Someone could hear you."

"Relax," Arthur whispered back conspiratorially. "No one heard."

Like a shark sensing blood in the water, Nimueh got up from her sewing machine, her four-inch heels clomping towards the patterning rack. Arthur wondered if the patterns she hooked onto the pole were her own, or one of the many Merlin had made for her.  
She slinked over to where they were working and said in a silky voice. "What's that you're sewing, Merlin? That doesn't look what I asked for."

"I can't work on your assignments until everyone leaves, you know that," Merlin sighed. "It's my project for The Art's Of Fashion Foundation Competition."

She whistled. "Not bad, but you should take more in here."

Nimueh stole a few pins from Merlin's pincushion, running her fingers down Arthur's shoulder. Arthur flinched, waiting for the metal to puncture his skin, but she did nothing more villainous than adjust a seam by a sixteenth of an inch.

"I bet you’re loving having Merlin on his knees," Nimueh said, looking Arthur straight in the eye.

"This is a fitting, Nimueh,” Merlin said under his breath. “It's completely platonic.”

"As platonic as your friendship?" She dropped her voice, making long work of a simple task. "It’s disgusting, you two flirting with poor little Gwenie in the room. I feel for her, you know, woman-to-woman, and I'm starting to think I've been too easy on Merlin if he has all this free time left to play. Don't' you agree, Arthur? "

Arthur's shoulders tensed. "Back off," he snapped. "Just let Merlin finish his work."

Nimueh pulled out another pin, rolling it in her fingers. "Or what, lover boy?"

"Don't you have your own work to do, Nimueh?" A female voice spoke from across the room. 

Gwen had abandoned her sewing machine, giving Nimueh a dose of her famous fuck-off face as she walked towards their group. Nimueh's mouth contorted. Arthur and Merlin held their breath.

"Merlin wanted a second opinion on his fitting with Arthur,” Nimueh said pleasantly. “I'm just helping a friend—"

"—I can manage Arthur from here," Gwen replied, butting in-between where Merlin and Nimueh stood.

Nimueh smiled. "Keep telling yourself that, honey." She stabbed her pin back into Merlin's pincushion bracelet with a hollow chuckle before returning to her own machine.

Gwen watched Nimue out of the corner of her eye, waiting until she was out of hearing range. "What the hell did she mean by that?" she asked, crossing her arms and staring at Merlin and Arthur as if they were criminals.  
Merlin played with the pincushion at his wrist. He looked down quickly and said, "I think she has a crush on Arthur."

Arthur gave Merlin an incredulous stare, the anger in his expression almost audible. "For fuck's sake, that woman hates me!”

"Oh no she doesn’t," Merlin replied, his face as red as a cranberry.

"Merlin, if you suspected that, then why didn't you ask me to help you fit with Arthur instead?" Gwen sighed. "I know you like to play nice with everyone, but some people aren't worth the effort. And Arthur, if Nimueh comes back, do the nice boyfriend thing and tell her to get lost, would you?" 

"With pleasure," Arthur said. "I feel like I need an STD test from just her touching my shoulder."

Gwen laughed a little, and then circled Arthur, undoing the poor adjustments Nimueh had made on the muslin. "Merlin, this mock-up looks good, but is this really all the work you've done on it? You've been at the studio all week, I'm surprised you've only gotten this far on your competition piece."

Rubbing the back of his neck, Merlin said, "I had an issue with the patterns, and I couldn't decide if the shirt should be french-seamed or not."

"Then you're over-thinking," Gwen said, her voice a touch softer. "The original design was gorgeous as it was. Relax and go with it."

Merlin nodded, and Gwen kissed Arthur possessively on his cheek before making her exit. Both men practically collapsed when they got back into changing area. 

"I don't get it," Merlin said in a hushed voice. "I thought for sure Nimueh would tell on us for sure."

"If you haven't noticed, Merlin, she enjoys toying with us," Arthur replied, carefully removing the pinned samples from his body and hanging it up. "If I know that monster, which unfortunately I do by now, Nimueh prefers keeping Gwen in the dark and her own pockets lined."

"I suppose." Merlin swallowed, handing Arthur back his real shirt. "But that doesn't explain her touching you."

"Forget that, what I can't believe is what you said that to Gwen! Nimeuh, having a crush on me? What the hell is wrong with you?"  
"But it is true! I think Nimueh's secretly hoping you'll fall for her. Get married. Have beautiful children with blond hair and red lips that run around cursing all the time and stealing from people's pockets."

Arthur groaned. "Were you born strange, or do you try at it?" 

"A little of both," Merlin said, folding his muslin samples back into his bag. "But from now on, let’s do the fittings at our apartment instead. It's too risky here, all of us in the same room. My nerves can't handle that again."

Arthur nodded in hearty agreement.

*

Merlin pushed through the junior patterning rack, finding the hanging patterns labeled in a red cursive scrawl. Everything about Nimueh was lazy, even her penmanship. She hadn't taken the skirmish in the fashion studio lightly, enacting her wrath upon Merlin by doubling his amount of work.

He threw the patterns to the table, rolling out two yards of periwinkle silk. He would have to French seam it all, hand roll the hems. Nimueh may be an incompetent seamstress, but she wasn't a novice designer. Merlin knew that if she so much smelled an overlock machine near her class projects, she'd call off their “deal”.

Two hours passed, the clock on the wall reading 9:00 p.m. Heart-Shaped Box played at random from Merlin's phone, the lyrics crooning in time with the thump of his sewing machine's motor. The song was the frustrated growl of a man trapped in a lover's snare, something Merlin could easily relate to.

He noticed with vague interest that he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers anymore, even though they responded to his demands. Merlin guided the silk through the machine, watching the silver needle impale it over-and-over again with white thread. He released his foot from the pedal and held his hands up to his face.

Merlin couldn’t believe such beaten and abused things were attached to his body. His hands looked like coal miner's hands. Washerwoman's hands.

Merlin left his workstation and pulled a bottle of rose balm from his bag, massaging the clear paste into his palms. A tap on the window revealed Arthur in a plaid shirt, smiling as wide as the Cheshire Cat. Merlin nodded at him, and Arthur let himself into the unlocked studio.

"We don't have an appointment today," Merlin said.

"I know. I thought you might be hungry," Arthur replied, shaking a brown paper bag in front of Merlin’s face. "I went to that grocery store you like. The one that smells like new-age bullshit. Have you eaten?"

Merlin smiled weakly. "No. Not yet." 

Arthur watched Merlin guide a pizza cutter-looking tool along marked lines on silk, twisting and turning the tool around each curve until the fabric fell away from itself.

"Well," Arthur pressed, putting the bag on the table. "Dig in."

Merlin yelped, throwing it back into Arthur's hands. "Jesus, not on the fabric! I need to finish this for Nimueh first."

"When did you last eat?"

"I dunno. Breakfast, I guess?"

"Merlin, that was thirteen hours ago."

"Lovely, you can do math," Merlin quipped, picking up the cut silk pieces and pinning them to their mates.

"And when was the last time you shaved?" Arthur asked, rubbing his knuckles against the stubble on Merlin's cheek. "I've never seen you leave the house without a clean shave. I wonder what it would feel like, if I—"

Merlin caught Arthur's wrist. "Please," he said, his eyes deep and weary. "I have to finish my studio project."

Arthur uncoiled Merlin's fingers. "You will stop," he commanded. "You will take a break, and you will eat. That's not a request."

"I'm behind enough as it is!"

“Then let me lighten your load. It's the least I can do."

Merlin raised an eyebrow.

"Come on," Arthur purred, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist. "There has to be something that I can do for you?"

"Oh, I know exactly what you want to do for me. Or rather, to me." Merlin groaned. " And besides being completely exhausted, there's a security camera in here. The last thing I need is to get kicked out of school for screwing around in the fashion studio."

Arthur chuckled. "Enticing idea, but that's not what I meant. I'm asking you what I can do to help you with your project. For fuck's sake, Merlin, do you think I enjoy seeing you toil? There has to be something I can do to help?"

Merlin snorted. "You could come out to Gwen." 

"Besides that."

"Oh, I don't know..."

Arthur let Merlin go, pressing a tin foil wrapped cylinder into Merlin's hand. "Look, I bought you a hummus wrap. I even checked with the cashier to make sure it's vegan. Do you understand what a painful conversation that was for me?"

Merlin unwrapped the corner, taking a sampling bite, eyes going half lidded as he chewed. How had he not noticed before that he was starving? He let his shoulder slump against Arthur, eating a few more bites as Arthur massaged the small of his back.

"Fine," Merlin conceded. "You can take the black dress hanging on the rack over there to pressing station. Steam it top to bottom until all the wrinkles relax."

"Can do. Now get to eating, skinny, before you disappear on me."

Merlin’s default smile slipped back into place. He ate his hummus wrap, scrolling through a long list of unread emails on his phone. Maybe Arthur was right. Maybe all he needed was a breather, a moment of sanity, and before he knew it the long wretched night and Nimueh's critique assignment would be—

"—SHIT!"

Merlin swallowed his mouthful of food, weaving in and out of the labyrinth of tables to the back of the classroom. Arthur's face was ashen, an iron clutched in his hand. He was staring at the dress underneath him, more precisely, the chard imprint of an iron stamped like a logo on the front of it.

"Fuck!" Merlin cried, snatching up the dress. "Fuck, fuckity, fuck!"

"It just happened." Arthur gulped, sheathing the scalding iron on its metal rest. "I swear, I didn't mean to! It was an accident!"

"I asked you to STEAM this dress, Arthur. What the hell are you doing with an iron in your hands?"

"Steaming it," Arthur said, fingering the iron as the culprit. "See! The iron's on the steam setting!"

"Steam setting? Arthur, a steamer and an iron are two different appliances!" Proving his point, Merlin dragged a vacuum-like machine out from behind the ironing board. "This is a steamer!" he shouted. "And that's an iron, which should never, ever, touch my silk!"

"Merlin—"

"—God, that was my piece for critique tomorrow," Merlin lay the dress on the table to examine the damage. It was extensive. "Do you have any idea how long it will take me to fix this?"

"I'm sorry.” Arthur's voice wavered, his hand cupping Merlin on the shoulder.

Merlin tensed under Arthur's touch. He took a deep breath through his nose, closed his eyes and said, "I should have explained better. Of course you've never worked with a steamer, and when would you have ironed silk? I should have been more careful..."

"Is there anything I can—"

"—No. The dinner, the help, it was a sweet offer, but I have work to do. I don't have time for distractions."

There was a long silence. Arthur shifted on his heels.

"I'd like you to leave the studio," Merlin pressed.

"Merlin, it's going to be alright. We can fix this. Together—"

"—No," Merlin said, his words exploding in a teary sleep-deprived rant. "No, Arthur. We can't fix this. We can't fix any of it! Because of you I'm behind on my school work, I'm lying to one of my best friends, and I'm going to fail my critique tomorrow. For fuck's sake, can’t you stop screwing with my life and just leave me alone?"

*

Stop screwing with my life.

Leave me alone.

The words still bit.

Arthur morosely drank his beer, watching the after hour's crowd through the tinted bar window. Twenty-something's flooded the sidewalks as if they owned them, men in starched suits speed walking under a gray December sky.

He pulled out his phone, texting a number he looked at often in his contacts, but rarely called.

Merlin. I'm sorry. Call me.

Arthur had hoped that company and the cold kiss of a few drinks would drown his misery, but if anything, Gwaine's drumming at the edge of their tabletop was pulling Arthur deeper into reality.

Arthur scowled at Gwaine through the dirty-red light of the bar. "Do you have to keep doing that?"

"Can't help it," Gwaine said, flipping his hair like a Vidal Sassoon commercial. "This song’s my jam. I say we prowl the floor. You can be my wingman. Lots of UCB girls looking drunk as hell tonight."

"I'm not in the mood," Arthur replied, grabbing a handful of tortilla chips.

"Why such a downer, Pendragon?"

Where should Arthur start? Well, I've been sneaking around, and avoiding having sex with my girlfriend. The man I love cussed me out today —deservedly—and a psychotic bitch has been bleeding my wallet like a leech.

"Relationship problems," was all Arthur said.

Gwaine nodded, admiring a passing brunette. "I've had plenty of them. The way I see it, bro, you’ve got two options. Option number one, work things out with Gwen. Option number two, get hammered.” He raised his eyebrow. “So, which are you gonna pick?"

Arthur checked his phone. Still no reply from Merlin. He flagged down the bartender. "Take a guess," he said, taking a long pull on his fourth beer.

*

Arthur opened the door to a pristine room that lodged nothing but silence. He slapped the wall in search of the light switch, giving up after three unsuccessful attempts. This morning he'd stripped his pajamas, emptied his backpack, and after dressing, bid Gwen goodbye from where she lay in bed.

The floor of the room was spotless now. The leg of his pajamas peeking out of the laundry basket, textbooks from his backpack stacked vertically on Gwen's desk. 

Arthur walked over to them, running his hands across the battered spines as he thought of who had put them there. An enamel frame on the desk caught his attention, or more precisely, the faces grinning behind the glass. He picked it up.

Halloween. He'd refused to wear a costume, but Gwen and Merlin had dragged him into the Halloween store anyway, loading his arms with neon cobwebs and poorly molded plastic spiders. The three of them spent a bottle of cider and three hours making their patio into a glowing spider web, only to have five trick-or-treaters show up. Together they'd finished a bowl of candy, Arthur's veins buzzing with sugar as if he were ten.

They'd had a neighbor take that photo. Arthur was on the right, dressed in a Hollister shirt and a Burger King crown they'd forced him to wear. Gwen was in the middle, dressed as Cleopatra. Merlin, who’d taken Arthur's sarcasm into action, was wearing white gloves, a top hat, and the polyester cape of a hack magician.

Arthur put the photo down, feeling his guilt fester. Things had been simple between them, before he'd contaminated things with his cowardice. God, he was such a pig.

He collapsed onto the bed, moonlight streaking across his bare feet from the picture window. Gwen's childhood teddy bear stared at him from the headboard with crooked eyes. Arthur sat the bear up, looked at his lifeless expression and said sternly, "Gwen, we need to talk."

He adjusted the bear's drooping head. "You know that old saying, it's not you, it's me? I always thought that was bullshit, but it turns out—hey, are you even listening?" he said, flicking the bear's nose.

"Gwen, there isn't an easy way for me to say this. I'm cheating on you. There, I said it. I'm cheating on you. And I'm so, so, so, so, so, so—"

A jingle of keys startled Arthur. He pushed the bear face down into the blankets. A moment later Gwen entered their bedroom. "Were you talking to me?" she asked. "I thought I heard you say something?"

Tell her, for Merlin's sake. For hers. Arthur's intoxicated brain screamed. Do it now you fucking pussy.

"I, um—"

"Hmm?" Gwen said, slipping out of her work-pants.

"Forget it. It was nothing important," Arthur mumbled into a pillow. He could see the teddy bear scowling at him from the corner of his eye. He flung it across the room.

Gwen gasped, grabbing her beloved bear off the floor. ""Hey! What did Roger ever do to you?"

"I don't like how the little fucker looked at me," Arthur said.

She put a hand on her hip, looking strangely authoritative for a woman in only a shirt and panties. "You're shitfaced, aren't you?" she asked.

"That's a matter of opinion."

Gwen jumped on the bed beside him, her bare legs tangling into his. "Then it's my opinion that you're shitfaced."

Arthur rolled over on his side. The room spun. "Takes more than a few drinks to get me shitfaced. Gwaine and I hung out after class. Bad day. I needed to unwind."

He could feel Gwen lie down and spoon him, the fullness of her breasts pressing against his back. "You think you've had a bad day, try working at GAP. People asking you how they look, for sizes the store doesn’t even carry," she said, kissing Arthur's neck. "You know, Merlin's out of the house. It's just you and me. How about we take the opportunity to do some unwinding of our own? It's been a while..."

*

Arthur stumbled naked down the hallway, struggling to pull his boxers up his hips. He counted it a victory that he covered his ass before reaching the bathroom. He slammed the door shut, hearing the thudding of Gwen’s footsteps behind him.

Arthur threw himself at the toilet, doubled over, the contents of his stomach exploding into the porcelain bowl with a terrible force. Arthur's stomach retched over and over again, until it was completely empty. He struggled up, flushing the toilet as the door cracked open.

He couldn't look at Gwen, not yet, and not if Arthur wanted to keep from worshiping the porcelain throne all over again.

Arthur leaned his full weight on the sink, hearing Gwen's broken breathing behind him. He’d never been one for false modesty. He knew that he was a good looking man; enough people had told him so. But the thing peering back at Arthur in the mirror tonight—it was ugly as sin.

"How much did you drink?" she asked softly.

Arthur gulped water straight from the tap to purge the bile from his throat. "Lost count at ten beers."

"Arthur, is everything okay?"

"No," Arthur exhaled, his voice shaky. "My mouth tastes rancid, and half my vomit went up my nose."

“That wasn’t want I meant. I haven't seen you puke like that since high school, and you’ve never had a problem before. With your…um…” Gwen looked quickly at Arthur’s boxers and then frowned, patting his back.

Arthur winced, spitting into the sink.

"Lovely,” Gwen replied. “Remind me to yell at Gwaine for sending you home this drunk. I'll get you a glass of water. Do you need my help to get back to the bed?"

"No. I think I got the worst of it out. I just… I want to take a shower. Alone," Arthur pleaded.

Nodding, Gwen stroked her hand once across his waist and left him.

Arthur turned on the shower, praying for the water to wash the world away. He banged his head against the glass. He’d never attempt to sleep with Gwen again; never try to hide himself inside her body, like a coward. Even if his mind was still willing to peruse the lie, his body now flat out refused.

He loved Merlin. Arthur understood now that no one else would ever be enough.

*

Gwen was still asleep when Arthur woke up in the morning. He left their bedroom, took two Advil in the bathroom, and rapt once on the door on the right. When no one replied, he peeked inside. Merlin's room was its usual disorder, but the bed was made, which meant only one thing: Merlin hadn't come home last night. Again.

Arthur walked into the kitchen and dug through the fridge, pouring himself a glass of Calistoga water into Merlin's favorite cup. He swished the fizzling carbonation in his mouth until Gwen appeared behind him. Fuck. This morning was going to be torture.

"Arthur," Gwen said, starting the kettle on the stove.

"You're a very attractive woman," Arthur replied, taking a gulp of air as he stuttered. "Very, very, attractive."

Gwen's lips puckered. "Umm..."

"I wasn't feeling well last night. I was drunk. The male body isn't a machine. Sometimes it doesn't… cooperate."

Gwen flushed. She ran her fingers through her loose ponytail. "Do your classes end early today?" she asked, obviously trying to change the subject.

Arthur nodded in relief, moving to the cabinets to pouring himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

"I was thinking that we could eat dinner tonight on Valencia,” she said. “Spend some quality time together. We haven't done that in while. I feel like it's what we both need, to take our minds off of finals. Kat says Luna Park is good restaurant. It’s a bit pricy, though."

Arthur made a noncommittal noise. Thanks to Nimueh, his wallet was almost empty this month.

"The restaurant makes their own corn dogs," Gwen pressed. "From scratch."

"Sold," Arthur replied, tapping his spoon against his cereal bowl like an auctioneer's gavel.

Gwen’s airy laugh in return seemed to lift both of their spirits. "My studio class is having an open critique in the main building today. How about you meet me there at four, say a few nice things about my dress, and when it's over we'll head out to dinner?"

Didn't Gwen have that studio class with Merlin? It would be the perfect excuse to see him, Arthur thought. To try and apologize again for last night.

"Okay," Arthur said. "What do you want me to say about the dress?"

"That it's the most awesome garment you've ever seen."

"How about I pretend to be blind then act like the dress cured me with its miraculous beauty?" he teased.

"Sure," Gwen smiled. "It's not like the teacher knows we're dating."

*

Arthur and Gwaine had been in the school library for over an hour, a pile of magazines stacked in a pyramid between them. The group assignment sounded simple enough; improve upon an existing design, keeping in mind the material and manufacturing costs, and create a mock client presentation at the end of two weeks.

It could have been just that easy, too, if Mr. Hopper hadn't assigned the class the frigging iPhone as the classes jumping off point.

Gwaine rolled his head to the side, so relaxed in his chair that he'd practically fused to it. "Got anything?" he asked Arthur, playing with the seashell charm on his leather necklace. "Cause I ain’t got jack here, bro."

"Nothing in this library is doing it for me," Arthur replied. "I say we make the exact same design in platinum and call it a day."

"And add a laser. Everybody likes lasers," Gwaine said, pretending to explode Arthur with his iphone as Arthur played along.

The librarian shot them a furious look from her desk, so Arthur silenced his laughter and tossed Gwaine his sketchpad. "This is all I've got so far."

Gwaine flipped a curtain of hair from his eyes, turning the sketchpad sideways. "Not bad, Pendragon. I can work with that."

"Yeah, but it's not Jonathan Ive good. We've got our week cut out for us." Arthur's jacket pocket vibrated. "Four already? Sorry, Gwaine, I have to head out."

“The little woman?" Gwaine grinned. “You two make up?”

"She has an open critique in the nave today. I promised I'd show and support her. Want to join me?"

"To look at dresses for forty minutes?" Gwaine said, kicking his legs up on Arthur's newly empty chair. "Yeah, I'll pass."

*

Arthur mingled into a group of peer observers. He stood behind the loose semi-circle of folding chairs, already recognizing students from the fashion department. Kat's bright pink hair, Gwen's romantic curls, and the messy dark hair of the lone male of the bunch. Arthur noticed immediately that Merlin was wearing same clothes he had worn the day before, his face unshaven. Save for his clothes, he didn't look like Merlin. At least, not the Merlin Arthur knew.

This Merlin was silent, lifeless, without the energy to bounce his crossed knee as he sat, in that neurotic way he sometimes did. The bags under Merlin’s eyes made him look a ghost of his former self. It was a heart wrenching—seeing Merlin like this.

An older woman with a blunt pixie cut and an immaculate pantsuit began the fashion critique, Introducing herself as Mrs. Barbara Blaze. Her voice echoed in the open nave, enticing curious students on their way to classes to come and observe.

The first presenter began, addressing her classmates as she described her creation. The longer she spoke, the more her eyes darted nervously back to the sea of unknown faces gathering around. At the end of each individual presentation, as Gwen had warned, there was an open critique, the fashion students politely describing what they enjoyed about each other's garments, and what needed room for improvement.

Every now and again a hand would shoot up from the crowd of curious onlookers. A painting major made a smart observation about a print, an architect student observing how a particular dress reminded him of his favorite Frank Lloyd Wright.

And then Merlin's turn came.

*

Merlin felt his legs quake as his name was called. Like a man sent to the gallows, he dragged his feet as he walked towards looming death, knowing that even if he wore a brave face, things were bound to end poorly. He stood next to his dress form, not looking at the butchered garment that hung from the size-8 body. 

With a deep breath, Merlin began to weave the most elaborate art school bullshit speech of his life.

"As you can see," Merlin said, clearing his throat. "This garment is a cocktail dress.” 

Because I ran out of fabric.

"The front is a purposeful contrast color, meant to give the illusion of a slender silhouette."

Purposeful in the sense that I was forced to tear out an iron-wrecked piece of black silk, and I only had purple fabric left to put in.

The crowd buzzed, staring. Merlin could feel his face redden. He let his eyes un-focus, and continued.

"It's supposed to be a statement piece."

That statement being “Help me!”

"That is to say..."

The teacher's hand went up. Merlin stopped mid-sentence. She circled Merlin’s dress form, no taller than her, giving it a spin to examine the back zipper. Her mouth flattened, crinkling her already wrinkled face. Merlin thought it was terrifying how a tiny woman could exude ferocity with the simplest of actions.

Barbra Blaze turned to Merlin and said, "You've made a statement piece, Mr. Emrys, but it stands out for all the wrong reasons. This garment looks like it was pulled together in five minutes. The finishing is sloppy, and I see you couldn't be bothered to hem the raw edges. You do realize this was a week long assignment?"

Merlin bit the inside of his lip, trying not to fall siege to his emotions. "I—"

"—Mr. Emrys, this work is disappointing to say the least." Barbara sighed, tapping her pencil on her grade sheet. "I'm sorry, but if you can't be bothered to finish an assignment, I can't be bothered to grade it. Sit down. You and I will be talking after class."

It was as if every judgmental stare rooted Merlin in place. He looked at his classmates, at the strangers in school who were judging him for this pitiful work. It was then Merlin noticed Arthur standing at back of the crowd, his blue eyes glazed and expressionless. Arthur, who in a few passionate months of Merlin's acquaintance, had asked Merlin for his heart—which Merlin had stupidly given him.

Arthur's affection had systematically stripped Merlin of every last piece of dignity he held. Now, Merlin knew unequivocally that his greatest fear had been realized. Caring about Arthur had indeed cost him everything.

The audience erupted in hushed gossip, tears streaming down Merlin's face as he took his seat. He couldn't cry. Not here. He couldn't give Nimueh that satisfaction.

Gwen was just as pale as Merlin when he claimed the seat beside her. Her eyes were twice their normal size, her hand automatically rubbing Merlin's back.

Merlin shook her off.

"Next we have Ms. Evienne," Barbara announced. "Can you explain your piece to us?"

Nimueh stepped beside her dress form, curling her fingers around its waist.

Merlin didn't hear a word that spewed from Nimueh's crimson mouth, all of his senses fixed upon the dress at the front of the room, a dress he knew every inch of. Merlin knew the delicate bias cut of the skirt, the hand rolled hem, the flat pressed fourth of an inch wide seams that had cost him a burn on his thumb.

Voices of praise rose around the room, Merlin noticing that even Gwen was straining to get a closer look at “Nimeuh’s” dress.

"I can see you've been busy, Ms. Evienne," Barbara said, jotting notes on her grade sheet. "This is a beautiful piece. Masterfully executed. The line of covered buttons down the back are a nice touch, time consuming, I'm sure. I hope to see this kind of initiative with all your assignments going forward."

Nimueh smiled a carnivorous grin, savoring the applause before sauntering back to her seat.

"Does anyone else have anything to add about the piece?" Barbara asked.

A hand shot up from behind the folding chairs.

"And your name?"

Merlin's heart caught in his throat.

Arthur walked around the crowd to the front of the half-circle, as graceful as if he were strutting a catwalk. In a violent motion he ripped the blue silk gown down the back with his bare hands. Buttons rained upon the floor, the room inhaling a collective gasp as what was left of a once beautiful dress tumbled into ruin on the concrete.

"That's my review of Ms. Evienne's work," Arthur said, his tone heavy as a sledgehammer. "She's done nothing for this presentation, and that's what she deserves to show."

Arthur scooped the shreds of cloth and combed through the crowd, placing the fragments ceremoniously onto Merlin's lap. Merlin barely knew how to receive such a gift, staring up at Arthur with thinly veiled shock.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," Arthur whispered. "This makes two of your dresses I've ruined in less than twenty four hours."

Nimueh's eyes vibrated, her gaze burrowing into Arthur as she stood up. "How dare you come into this critique, destroy my work and insinuate that I—"

"—I'm not insinuating anything!" Arthur said. "You and I both know that Merlin made that dress, just like every other assignment you've turned in for the last month! You're a liar and a cheater, Nimueh."

"Me a cheater?” Nimueh shouted with a throaty wail. “That’s rich, considering you're the one fucking Merlin behind your girlfriend's back!"

Arthur felt like a character from Swords of Our Fathers, watching sickly as his blood spilled through his fingers. He’d known there would be a high price to pay for his impulsiveness, and Nimueh had gone straight for his jugular. Arthur may have exposed Nimueh for a fraud—but the harpy had gutted him.

Barbra's voice rose over the amassing alarm, struggling to maintain her authority.

"What's wrong, Arthur," Nimueh smiled, pursing her lips. "Didn't want anyone knowing that you're a faggot?"

Arthur's eyes moved to the two other people involved in his shameful love triangle; the people for whom he cared most. Merlin was cardinal red, Gwen saucer-eyed, her pained expression leaving a sour taste in Arthur's mouth. Arthur didn't want anyone to look at him, but that's exactly what every face within twenty feet was doing. It was the nightmare of standing naked before a massive crowd; but he was wide awake in this living hell.

Arthur prayed for an earthquake. Ideally, the magnitude seven the papers threatened could strike the San Andreas fault at any time. But it didn't come.

Barbra inserted herself between the students, pushing Nimueh forward and out of the semicircle.

"I do not tolerate hate speech in my classroom under any circumstance, Ms. Evienne!" she growled. Then she set her sights on Arthur, cuffing his forearm. "I've had enough out of the both of you! If either of you speaks another word, consider yourself expelled. And you, Mr. Emrys—"

Merlin swallowed audibly in his seat.

"I think it's best." Barbara sighed. "If you join your unruly classmates at the counseling office."

*

The shiny brass placket on the desk read; Carol Lynn, Assistant Director of Psychology, a claim backed by a doctoral degree on the wall. The room was luxurious, every surface decorated with colorful abstract paintings, making it look more like a Jackson Pollock gallery than an office. 

The counselor silently entered the room. She was a young forty, her gray hair streaked with magenta dye. It struck Arthur as an unusual style choice for a woman her age, but she carried it well.

"Mr. Pendragon," she began.

"Mr. Pendragon is my father," Arthur replied briskly. "Call me Arthur."

The counselor assessed him with a curious look, then said. "Arthur, Mrs. Blaze tells me there was an incident between yourself, a Miss Evienne, and a Mr. Emrys during the fashion open critique today?"

The petite shadow of said teacher hovered outside the frosted glass door, reminding Arthur of the bruise his arm would develop tomorrow. He cracked his shoulders. Truth be told, he was terrified to be here, but he'd be damned if he'd let the school counselor notice.

"Something like that," Arthur replied.

"Ms. Evienne is giving a statement of events to my colleague as we speak, and Mr. Emrys will be in after her," Mrs. Lynne said, pulling out a yellow legal pad. "As a counselor, everything you tell me will be kept under strict confidentiality, but before we proceed, I want you to understand that Ms. Evienne's language towards you was in direct violation of the school's hate speech policy, and will therefore be properly addressed. However, Arthur, her behavior does not diminish the seriousness of your actions, or your allegations against her."

"I stand by what I said during the critique," Arthur said. "The dress Nimueh showed wasn't hers. I didn't mean to freak anyone out, but I couldn't stand there and let her taking credit for work she didn't do. Something in me just…” He waved his hand in the air. “Snapped."

"Could you please elaborate?" Mrs. Lynne asked, jotting down notes.

Arthur licked his lips. It was now or never. "Nimueh has been blackmailing Merlin, forcing him to sew her studio assignments, so the dress I ripped wasn't even hers, not really. All the the sewing, the patterning, that was all Merlin's work.

The counselor’s expression was unreadable. "And what is Ms. Evienne, supposedly, blackmailing Mr. Emrys with?"

"She has..." despite his best effort Arthur blushed. "...a...compromising video of Merlin and I. She threatened to make it public if we didn't do what she wanted. I told Merlin that no one could find out about us, especially not my girlfriend. We struck a bargain with Nimueh. For the past month I've been paying for her silence, and Merlin's been working for it."

"I'm going to take it that you were concerned over your relationship, If the video were made public?"

Arthur looked straight at the counselor and said, "Not in the way you think. Gwen, my girlfriend, she'd be furious if she found out I cheated on her. There's no way I could guarantee that she wouldn't tell what happened to my sister. My father’s pretty religious. If he found out about Merlin and I, it would be... bad. Very bad."

"Would he be angry?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, besides cutting my school funds, let's just say I don't think I'd be invited home for Christmas. Ever. My father isn't fond of that 'lifestyle', so to speak."

The counselor wrote down another note, and then asked, "Do you consider yourself a gay man, Arthur?"

Arthur had expected this to be brutal, but hadn't expected the damn Spanish Inquisition. "I've only dated women." He swallowed. "But I've always been—curious. You have to understand, I'd never considered trying anything with a guy until Merlin."

Arthur leaned back in his seat. He wanted to say it out loud, to see how it felt. Here in this room, with a woman legally bound to silence seemed as good a place as any. "Yes," Arthur said, in a clear voice. "I'm gay."

The counselor seemed unaffected by the revelation, as if Arthur had just told her he liked sugar in his coffee. How ironic, Arthur thought, that the secret he’d dreaded saying aloud for years elicited almost no reaction.

"So, you asked Merlin to keep your affair secret?" she asked.

"I didn't ask," Arthur snapped. "I guilt tripped him. Merlin worked until he could barely stand because of me. He embarrassed himself in a room full of people, all because I didn't have the balls to fess up to Gwen and tell her months ago that I'm in love with—" 

Arthur stopped, realizing with horror that the moisture dripping down his cheeks wasn't sweat. It was tears.

He never cried.

Never.

"This is my fault," Arthur whispered, burying his head in his hands. The tears kept coming, wracking him to his core. "I've fucked up, and I doubt either of them will want to speak to me after this."

The counselor moved out from behind her desk. "Arthur," she said in a soft voice. "Would you like a glass of water?"

Arthur nodded when words failed him.

Her exit gave Arthur a chance to pull himself back together, to steal a tissue from a box on her desk, blowing his nose and gathering his erratic emotions. Maybe that was what she’d hoped for all along. When she returned with a plastic cup, Arthur had regained enough composure to meet the counselors eyes again. He downed the water in a gulp.

"Arthur, I can tell that you're very upset about what's happened," she continued. "But do you have any proof to corroborate your story?"

"Merlin has the video Nimueh took." Arthur sniffled, shook his head. "I mean, she doesn't speak in it or anything, but she took it."

The counselor frowned. "I'm sorry, but a video of that nature isn’t proof on its own. Is there anything else? A written letter by Ms. Evienne? An email?"

Arthur cursed under his breath. Nimueh had been right that night at the bar, what did Arthur have as proof but his word over hers? Would all of this come down to who was a better storyteller? He swallowed his disappointment until it left a hard pit in his stomach.

"So," Arthur asked wearily. "What happens now?"

"All three of you will be put on a week-long suspension. During which time, the school board will review your statements, as well as the footage of your vandalism during the fashion critique. After a week's time, there will be a decision with regards to your continued enrollment at this school."

"Footage? What footage?"

"Footage from the school security cameras,” the counselor said, as if the answer was obvious.

"I thought the cameras in the classrooms were for show. They actually work?" Arthur replied.

"Yes, Arthur. They're operational.”

"Do they record audio, or just video?"

"Both."

Arthur’s voice took on a frantic edge. "And how long are these recordings stored?"

"That's not my department," the counselor replied. Her eyebrows crinkled for a moment in thought. "If memory serves, I believe the footage is stored for a period of up to three months. It's a safety measure, to ensure that the school’s database to access to it in case of a theft or a reported crime. After the allotted time, the recordings are cleared."

Arthur found the pleasure of this revelation impossible to contain. He grinned ear-to-ear, feeling more like his old self as he asked, "Do you have a piece of paper? I need to write something down."

The counselor flipped a page, and passed Arthur her notepad. Arthur wracked his brain. He’d never forget the first date, the day he and Merlin consummated their relationship in the car. The other dates were a bit fuzzy, but he knew Merlin's schedule well enough to guess them.

"I've written down everything I can think of," Arthur said, eagerly returning the notepad. "For the first date, check the footage from all the cameras at back of the school.”

Looking at the notepad, the counselor said, “Arthur, I’m afraid that I don’t understand—”

“—Merlin said that Nimueh took him out for a smoke when she first threatened him with blackmail, and I'll bet my life that she wouldn't have done that at the front of the school.” Arthur replied. “Don’t you get it? The security cameras, they must’ve caught everything. For the rest of the dates, check the fashion studio from around eight p.m. to midnight. You'll see Merlin sewing the garment that Nimueh passed as hers during critique, not to mention several other projects of Nimueh’s that the teachers should be able to identify as Merlin’s.”

Arthur watched as deep thought clouded the counselor’s calm exterior. "All right,” she said. "I'll speak with school security. If what you say is true, and video exists to corroborate your story, I'll need to call you into my office again."

"Sure!" Arthur smiled.

"Arthur," she said, putting sharp emphasis into his name. "I want you to understand that if you are telling me the truth, and it’s corroborated, you’ll need to give a formal statement to the dean of the school and the chair of the fashion department. Are you willing to do that?"

Arthur looked her straight in the eye and said, "I promised Merlin once that I'd never let anyone hurt him, but it was me who ended up almost ruining his life. I'll do whatever you want. I'll swear on a damn Bible if you ask me to. I have to make sure Nimueh gets what she deserves. I have to fix this... for Merlin."

The counselor stood up to shake his hand, and then walked to the door, rapping twice on the frosted glass. "Thank you, Arthur, for coming forward with your story. Security will escort you off the premises."


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, and I own nothing. :)

Arthur stepped out of the office and checked his phone. He had fourteen missed calls, all from the same number, a reminder that his evening of trials had only begun. 

Mrs. Blaze had abandoned her post at the counseling office door, her replacement a brick of a man thumbing at his sparse goatee.

"I'll take you to your classroom to get your stuff," the security guard said to Arthur with the hint of a New York accent. "After that you're to stay off campus until further notice."

Arthur nodded, gaze finding Merlin slouched in a plastic chair at the reception area. Merlin appeared to be all loose nerve; pearls of perspiration dotting his brow. A frayed copy of People magazine bore the full burden of Merlin's anxiety, twisting back and forth in his hands.

Arthur turned to the security guard and asked, "Can you give me a minute, to say goodbye to my-" His tongue stuck on the roof of his mouth. What was Merlin exactly-his boyfriend? Though every ounce of Arthur wished that, the idea was presumptuous. His lover? They had certainly had their share of liaisons, but the title sounded like something from a cheap romance novel. 

Arthur settled with pointing in Merlin's direction, which caused the guard to crack his knuckles in protest.

"I won't take long." Arthur pleaded.

"You got a minute, kid," the guard shot back. "Don't pull any funny stuff."

Arthur ran the short distance to Merlin, calling out his name. The magazine fell from Merlin's grip, his somber eyes searching Arthur's own.

Panic fluttered wildly in Arthur's chest. All he had hoped for the last hour was to see Merlin, to beg for his forgiveness. But now that they were face to face, having someone as amazing as Merlin in his life felt like the last thing Arthur deserved.

But it was exactly what he desired.

"I told the counselor everything," Arthur said, briefly explaining to Merlin his hour in Mrs. Lynn's office. "You don't need to worry about keeping things hidden, when it's your turn to go into the counseling office, I want you to put all the blame for this on me."

Merlin frowned.

"It's the truth, isn't it?" Arthur pressed. "The school will have to let you off the hook for doing Nimueh's work once they review the security tapes."

The space between them vanished as Merlin stood, squeezing Arthur into a hug. Merlin's slim body felt like silk in Arthur's arms. He wanted to fall into the embrace, to cherish it, but there was chasteness to the intimacy that terrified him. A reservation in Merlin's affection he'd never encountered before.

"I'm so sorry," Merlin whispered warmly into Arthur's left ear.

Arthur licked his lips and said, "I understand. I ruined your coursework, your…er...reputation—"

"That's not what I meant," Merlin replied. "Last night I was upset, but it's not like I never wanted to see you again. I just needed space. If I had any idea you'd go and pull a stunt like that..." He closed his eyes, took a full breath and said, "Nimueh posted the video, Arthur. She put it on Facebook, and Tumblr, and everything. My phone's slammed with texts, there's no way we can deny hooking up now. Everyone knows."

 _Ah,_ thought Arthur with a pang of understanding, _That explained the fourteen missed calls from Gwen_. What he said out loud was, "That's fine. I expected as much."

"Arthur, I know what it feels like to be publicly outed. I swear I never, ever, wanted anything like that to happen to you."

"So everyone knows now, who gives a fuck?" Arthur snorted. "What was I supposed to do, Merlin, watch Nimueh spit in your face? Sit back and watch the man I love ruin his grades?"

Merlin's eyelashes fluttered. "Love?" 

"I've loved you," Arthur said slowly. "Since the moment you first spoke to me at the airport. I realize now that can survive breaking up with Gwen, I can survive being kicked out of school, hell, I can even deal with my father disowning me if it comes to that. But I won't lose you Merlin, not like this. Not ever if I can help it..."

The security guard cleared his throat, motioning to the exit with an authoritative wave.

"That's my cue," Arthur said bleakly. "I'm going to find Gwen, explain everything as gently as I can and try my best to convince her to take this out on me and leave you out of it. I understand ,Merlin, if you don't want to see me again after all this. I just had to tell you how I feel—"

Bangs washed against Arthur's face, Merlin touching their foreheads together. Arthur could feel his shame cresting, threatening to spill over, just as it had moments ago in the counseling office. He bit his lip, pulling away to give Merlin a manly pat on the shoulder.

Arthur found security guard, falling in line with his uniformed strides.

"Arthur!" Merlin shouted, loud enough for the receptionist to peer over her coffee mug. "I...I... love you too," he blushed, adding as an afterthought, "Even though you're an impulsive prick."

Arthur let out a surprised chuckle. "I'll wait for you at the BART station." He smiled.

*

 

Arthur had walked to Dolores Park in the past, but never with such tension. He knew that Gwen's request to meet at the grassy oasis a skip from the Castro spoke volumes. The park was a popular hangout for people their age, a place to make-out and unwind after classes. They'd never actually been to the park as a couple; though Arthur had eaten Mediterranean take out on the grass with Gwaine once, when the weather was still inviting.

Tonight it was anything but.

Gwen was sitting alone under a palm tree, as if its jagged leaves could provide her shelter from the thick fog.

Arthur buttoned up his coat; zigzagging through a group of hipsters boozing on the lawn. One of them clicked a lighter to life; the smell of clove cigarettes following Arthur up the slope as he found Gwen. He thudded down next to her, watching as she quickly stuffed her phone back into her pocket.

"This wasn't what I wanted when I suggested we go out tonight." She said dryly.

He nodded, examining her face. Gwen's blank expression betrayed nothing, but the stiffness of her posture made him immediately uneasy. The Gwen Arthur knew, the girl who had seen him vomit, tear a dress in half, and jump their roommate on video in the course of 24 hours, well, lets just say he'd expected her to rip into him before he'd even made it up the slope.

"I saw what Nimue posted," she continued, so soft Arthur could scarcely hear her. "This whole afternoon doesn't make any sense. Arthur, for heaven's sake you're not crazy, and you're not—" She flushed, looking down at the grass.

Arthur's first impulse was to lie, but he quickly dismissed it. "The past few months have been a confusing time in my life, but you deserve honesty, and from here on out that's what I'm going to give you."

Gwen curled her legs up against her chest, cocked her head to the side and said. "I suppose this is the part where you tell me you're sorry. That you were curious, or drunk, and that you fucked up and learned your lesson?"

"I can't promise that. I'd be lying."

Her mouth dropped.

"I seduced Merlin that night at the gallery. I had no idea Nimueh was there or that she'd taped us. She's been using the recording you saw to blackmail Merlin into doing her coursework. He wanted to tell you Gwen, to confess what we'd done immediately, but it was me who pressured him to keep quiet and do what Nimueh wanted. I was afraid, and selfish. I didn't want you finding out, or my family. But I didn't want to stop seeing Merlin either."

"So all the stupid fights between you two at home, the constant nitpicking... What the hell was that, flirting?"

"Yes." Arthur swallowed.

"Arthur how long have you known that you're—that you like-"

"I think I've always suspected, to a degree. I used to believe If I ignored it I'd be fine, and that worked well for a time, but then I came here. I met Merlin, and..."

Gwen grabbed her schoolbag and flung it at Arthur. The canvas bag hurtled over his head, crashing into a palm tree and showering papers down the hillside where the hipsters were camped.

"And when the hell were you planning to mention that to me, Arthur?" Gwen cried, ignoring the group of guys now heckling them from bellow. "Me, you know, your _girlfriend_?"

"I felt like you were the last person I could tell..."

"Well I should have been the first! I've given you three years of my life, Arthur, three years! And what were those, more of your lies? A game of pretend?"

"Of course not," Arthur whispered, rubbing the sweat off his neck. "I care for you, Guinevere, I always have and I always will. I asked you to be my girlfriend back then because of who you are, an amazing woman. I've just come to the understand recently that the love I feel for you is a different kind of love then what you deserve."

"How do you expect me to deal with this? For fucks sake I don't even want to look at you right now."

"There's no excuse for how I behaved, and I'm not trying to make one. It was wrong of me to cheat on you, Gwen. I could have acted honestly and respectfully towards you, and I didn't. I majorly fucked up. You didn't deserve this, and I wish I had handled things better, but please try and understand that this hasn't been an easy thing for me to admit to myself, let alone another person."

"I can't believe you want sympathy from me when you've lied, not to mention humiliated me in front of my entire class! Tonight I've not only lost a boyfriend, Arthur, but one of my best friends!"

A strand of hair fell limply across Gwen's tear stained cheek. She looked so miserable, so alone, that Arthur wanted to wrap his arms around her in comfort as he had so many times in the past. But the notion seemed beyond inappropriate now, not when he was the very source of her pain.

He felt wretched.

"Gwen-"

"Stop it. Were done here."

"Guinevere-"

"Arthur Pendragon," she snapped, staring straight into his very being. "If you have an ounce of respect left for me you'll leave, before I have to get up and make you leave."

There was little Arthur could do but get off the grass. He tried to catch Gwen's eye before he left, to apologize again, but she'd deafened to his very existence. He stumbled down the slope half in tears, jumping as something caught his pant leg. When Arthur realized not only was it a human grabbing at him, but one of the drunken hecklers he'd heard earlier, he felt ready to deck the guy in his bearded face.

"I come in peace," the hipster said, holding up a hand in surrender. He dug his free arm into a red cooler, popped the top of a chilled Pabst Blue Ribbon and then cozied it in a brown paper bag.

"Heavy shit going on up there with your girl, regular soap opera. We all thought you could use one of these." he said, offering Arthur the drink.

Arthur froze, lowering his eyebrows.

"It's not roofied, promise." The guy smiled back.

Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. He accepted the beer, took a swig that finished half the can and said thank you.

*

Lancelot was seated on the leather couches near the library, his laptop hot as a heating pad on his thighs. A sleeping student tossed and turned on his right, disturbed by the clicking keyboard. Lance let his fingers hang in mid air, wondering if it would be better to work in the library.

He was in the middle of a mock client consultation, the premise of the assignment being the refurbishing of an old brick warehouse. Preoccupied that week, he'd put the work off and now had the sour job of playing catch-up on his final. Which was why when Lances phone rang, he debated answering at all. That was, until an electronic rendition of 'Greensleeves' played.

Lance pounced on the answer button.

"Gwen?" He said, fighting to contain the excitement in his voice. "Hey, what's up?"

Silence fed from the speakers.

"Gwen?"

"Thank God you picked up," she said, adding quickly. "Of course you'd pick up."

The waver in Gwen's voice made Lance's skin prickle. Had she been crying?

"What's wrong?" Lance whispered into the receiver. "Are you okay?"

"Somethings happened Lance, with Arthur. I could really use a ride home."

*

 

Merlin adjusted the scarf at his throat; mouthing at a cigarette as Arthur met him at the 16th Street and Mission train station entrance. Without so much as "hello", Arthur stole the cigarette from Merlin's lips, crushing the half spent shaft against a moldy brick wall.

The destruction of a perfectly good cigarette normally made Merlin livid, but the feral look in Arthur's pink eyes, and the slag of his posture told Merlin that now was not the time to push things.

"Were you able to talk to Gwen?" he asked, hiding his pack of American Spirits in case Arthur went for those next.

"You first," Arthur replied. "What did the counselor say? What's the verdict?"

"Week-long suspension, the same as you."

"Bullshit," he cursed under his breath.

"And Guinevere, how is she, Arthur? How is she really?"

Arthur rubbed his neck and said, "Let's just say there's no way either of us are going back to the apartment tonight."

"I should have come with you," Merlin stuttered. "Fuck. I should call her now and—"

"What good would that do? It's done, give Gwen a break to cool off, will you? It was my job to tell her. She was my girlfriend."

"And my friend."

"She's hardly in the mood to talk to either of us right now, and can you blame her?" Arthur interjected. "Besides, we need to figure out where we're going to stay tonight. I'd rent a hotel but Nimueh drained all my cash."

"I know a place we can stay," Merlin said gently. "Assuming you have at least two dollars and fifty cents left in your wallet?"

*

The bus wedged into a throng of commuter traffic on Highway 101, Arthur looking out the window at a view of the bay he rarely glimpsed. He'd never been to Marin County, where Merlin's parents lived, because before now he'd never had a reason. It was strange to imagine meeting the Emrys family, let alone begging to stay with them.

Night had robbed the Golden Gate Bridge of its orange glow, but there was still grace to the structure, to the effortless way its cables spanned the dark lapping water. Eventually the metal supports of the bridge faded, melting into the grassy headlands and the sensual curves of Mount Tamalpais.

Arthur remembered Merlin saying in passing that the mountain was known locally as "The Sleeping Lady". Arthur considered its sloping ridges; but the only sleeper he could spot was a cherubic Merlin, snoring peacefully in his seat. He draped his coat over Merlin, tucking the sides in tightly and cuddling into the warmth of Merlin's body.

He knew he should sleep too, but his mind was restless; the adrenaline of the day coursing electric through his veins.

The bus ride was two hours long. When they arrived at their stop, Arthur hauled Merlin's school bags onto the curb.

"So, this is your home town?" he asked, slightly winded.

"Mm hmm," Merlin replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "My first job was over there," Merlin pointed to a green grocery store. "I was a bag boy."

Arthur wondered quietly how this town hadn't died with the hippie movement of the 60's. It was isolated, woody, with a one block main street of buildings salvaged from pioneer times. Half of the shops looked like dive bars, the others were boutiques selling crystals, hemp clothing, and the kinds of herbal vitamins Merlin's kitchen drawer at home was stuffed full of.

They walked down the crumbling sidewalk, enjoying starlight in place of streetlamps. The two of them on an empty street, running from their old lives like outlaws. It reminded Arthur of his own arrival in California. He'd been running away then too, though he hadn't known it. Running away from a life that had chafed him as badly as ill-fitting suit. And once again, Merlin was at Arthur's side, acting as his guide to destinations and feelings unexplored.

"I'm sorry to be putting your family in this position." Arthur said with an apologetic groan.

"They won't mind," Merlin replied, the sleep on the bus obviously agreeing with him. "Besides, let's look at the positives, Nimueh has lost her leverage on us, and it's only a matter of time before the truth blows up in her face. Also, a week-long suspension means I have a week's worth of uninterrupted sewing time. The security guard was nice enough to let me get my supplies from the studio, so I may even be able to finish my Art's Of Fashion Competition piece, if you'll keep playing model."

"I'll strip for you anytime," Arthur responded, pleased at the way Merlin blinked when he mentioned undressing. "And you forgot another positive, Merlin."

"Hmm… what's that?"

Arthur's heart pounded as he said, "I'm single now."

"I'm not sure 'single' is the right word," Merlin said softly.

"Yours, then?"

Merlin looked lost, until Arthur caught up his hand, lacing their fingers together. "How about each others?" Merlin whispered, blushing uncontrollably.

"Sure." Arthur grinned, feeling their steps form a uniform rhythm.

It didn't take long to get to their destination from the downtown. Dead leaves crackled underfoot as they walked through a large front yard, barren crab apple trees shielding a two-story house.

It was wood shingled, the roof sprouting grass like an accidental hobbit house. The front windows were made of murky brown Coke bottle glass, a redwood front door greeting Arthur; twice as tall as any person he'd ever met. Merlin pulled the head of a dragon doorknocker with his free hand, letting it fall where it willed.

A woman in loose floral prints answered, with a braid trailing past her waistline. "Merlin!" she chirped, words as warm as her smile.

"Hi Mom," Merlin said sheepishly. "I'm sorry I didn't call first."

The woman pulled Merlin into her arms, enveloping him with a tenderness that made Arthur's heart ache just a little.

"Is everything all right?"

"Can we talk inside?" Merlin replied. "It's pretty cold out and—" He looked behind him, smiling beautifully. "Mom, this is Arthur. Arthur, this is my Mom, Hunith."

Arthur extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs.-"

Hunith's arms were around Arthur before he could blink, hugging him as tightly as she had Merlin. Arthur normally loathed being hugged by strangers. Maybe it was her gentleness, or the faint way she resembled her son, but he didn't struggle away.

"Hello, Arthur. Merlin's told me all about you. So good to finally put a face to the name." She said, ushering them inside.

The Emrys home looked like a fantasy novel come alive. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, blue glass bottles illuminating the windowsill. It was a warm, dry home, smelling of baked goods and the bay trees that swayed just outside its picture windows. Hunith lead Arthur and Merlin into the kitchen, seating them at a round table before placing a loaf of bread at its center.

"Fresh banana bread, " she announced. "Egg and dairy free of course. Arthur, would you care for some?"

"No thank you," Arthur replied. "I'm fine."

Merlin helped himself, cutting a hefty hunk of bread and smearing a substance on it that Arthur was certain, by both texture and color, wasn't real butter. Merlin didn't bother with chewing. The meal was gone from his plate in three swallows, Arthur realizing that this was the first time poor Merlin had eaten in hours.

"Be back in a minute," Merlin said, wiping crumbs off his lips. "I'm going to run upstairs and get cleaned up."

Arthur looked bewildered.

"I won't be long," He soothed. "Just need a change of clothes, can't stand being in these filthy things anymore."

Arthur couldn't protest, not with Merlin's mother in earshot. He watched Merlin bound up a twisting staircase, praying that he'd take less time getting dressed at his parent's house then he did back at their apartment.

With her son out of the room, Hunith was back in mother hen mode, immediately placing a steaming cup into Arthur's hands.

"Chamomile tea, dear," she smiled. "You can never go wrong with chamomile."

"Not if he's on Coumadin, Hunith." A white haired man had entered the dining room, one eyebrow raised high behind his wire glasses. "You're not on any blood thinners, are you my boy?"

Arthur blinked. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't believe we've-"

"Gaius," the older gentleman replied, shaking Arthur's hand before settling into a chair at the table. "I'm Merlin's father. Stepfather, if we're to be technical, but I did raise him from boyhood, and if that doesn't make him my son by all but blood, I don't' know what would."

"Pleased to meet you, sir."

"Fine manners," Giaus replied with a half-nod to Hunith. "And the hint of Midwestern pronunciation, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Indiana," Arthur said, pleased that despite Merlin's past nagging that his manners were boorish; he knew how to make an impression when it mattered.

"Indianapolis?"

"Northern, South Bend."

Gaius scratched his chin. "I haven't had the pleasure of visiting there, but I had the pleasure of working in Indiana with The Riley Children's Hospital back in my pediatric days."

"You're a physician?"

"Thankfully a retired one. My primary focus now is holistic medicine and its applications."

Arthur thought again of Merlin's drawer at their Oakland kitchen, all of the supplements he couldn't name. This explained a lot. Never had he encountered such crunchy granola people. If they weren't so nice Arthur would have found his situation almost comical.

He watched Merlin's stepfather leave the table again, shuffling through a cluttered desk and pulling a carved wooden pipe from under a pile of papers. Arthur thought nothing of the pipe—at first. Plenty of people in his hometown smoked tobacco the old fashioned way. It wasn't until he got a good sniff of the smoke wafting from it that his face contorted.

"I hope you don't mind?" Gaius said, noting Arthur's expression as he took back his spot at the round table. "I find a bit of cannabis helps stir my appetite these days. And its anti-inflammatory effects do wonders for arthritis."

Arthur's own eyebrow shot up. "Oh."

"Ah, how rude of me," Giaus replied, "If you'd like some it would be my pleasure to offer. Or, if you're averse to smoking, I've a wonderful concoction of rattlesnake venom."

Arthur looked over at Hunith, who was either blissfully unaware of the offer or simply uncaring. "I'm not familiar..." He swallowed.

"Marijuana wine, essentially. It's a pleasant high, with less bite than the name suggests."

Awkward footsteps interrupted the conversation, and Arthur couldn't have been gladder to hear them. Merlin was all cleaned up, his clothing changed and his spirits equally fresh.

"Merlin, my boy," Gaius chimed, blowing circles from his pipe as Merlin bounced over, giving his stepfather a warm hug. "Your mother and I do enjoy your unexpected visits. Would you like to do me the honor of explaining why you've come all the way here so late at night?"

"Problems at school," Merlin said casually. "It's nothing to worry about, Arthur and I need a place to stay. Is it all right with you and mom if we stay in my old room? Just until things get cleared up? I can help you with chores while I'm here. Do the compost and stuff."

Arthur was shocked. If this had been his family, him telling his father that he had issues at school, the conversation would have been anything but civil. Merlin's parents listened quietly to Merlin's G-rated suspension story, their faces wrinkled with concern rather than rage.

"Well," Hunith sighed, squeezing her son's hand. "I suppose you both can stay as long as you need to; your room's how you left it. I'll wrestle up a sleeping bag and a clean pillow for Arthur."

"Please, don't go to the trouble," Merlin said, cutting himself a second helping of bread.

"It's December sweetie," Hunith replied. "Your friend is going to freeze on the oak floor if we don't get some covers on him."

"Arthur's sleeping in my bed, Mom."

Chamomile burned down Arthur's sinuses. He managed to choke the liquid up with an ungraceful cough and a few quick pats from Merlin.

"In that case," Hunith said, recognition lighting her face as she studied the blushing couple. "I'll get Arthur an extra pillow."


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, and I own nothing. :)

Arthur's sleep was dreamless; a thick, molasses-like sleep that left his limbs feeling heavy when he awoke. He blinked his eyes open, gazing at a canopy of glow in the dark star stickers on redwood roof beams. He'd forgotten where he was until he felt his arms woven around Merlin's waist, Merlin spooned loosely against him. It seemed neither of them had moved an inch after falling asleep in Merlin's twin bed the night before.

Merlin's childhood room was on the second floor of the Emrys house; up a staircase so crooked you could roll marbles sideways off of it. It was doll-sized, smaller than Merlin's room at their apartment, with a bed just big enough for two adults to lay side-by-side like packed sardines.

Arthur pulled the quilt over Merlin's bare shoulders, marveling at his flawless skin, his innocent face, and his far from innocent mouth.

It fascinated Arthur to be in Merlin's private space, to see his belongings carefully laid out. There concert posters of band's Arthur had never heard of, photos of people he'd never met. Intimate details of Merlin's past on full display. However, there was an oddity about the room that irked Arthur. The widows had no curtains, which felt very vulnerable when waking up in nothing but your underwear. Thankfully, the view was an empty wood behind the house, and nothing else.

Arthur tried to go back to sleep, but the early morning sunlight was in his eyes, and it didn't help that Merlin's very presence was a tease to Arthur's libido. The smell of his organic body wash, the feel of his toned arms, and the gentle way Merlin breathed as he held him.

Since sleeping in was impossible, for him at least, Arthur leaned up on a pillow to watch Merlin sleep. The rational part of his mind told him he was being creepy, or at the very least pathetic, but he didn't care.

When Merlin finally woke, Arthur couldn't contain his smile. "I want every day to be like this," Arthur whispered.

Merlin yawned, taking in the morning and remembering the long night. "Oh," he mumbled, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "You mean the..."

"Well yes," Arthur said, smirking. "But what I really meant is you and me. Like this. Doing cliché couple things."

"Like having sex in a bed for a change?" Merlin grinned.

Arthur nodded, and took a satisfying stretch that made his back crack. If last night was as good as he'd remembered, they'd both have trouble walking straight today. He surveyed the room, looking at a bookshelf that doubled as nightstand.

He pulled out a paperback absentmindedly. "You read vampire books, Merlin? You're sure you're not a girl?"

"That's Anne Rice ,you clot," Merlin said, as if the author's name was an answer in itself. He pulled off the quilt, walking slowly towards a small closet in only his tighty whities.

"And this one," Arthur said, enjoying the view as he slipped another book from the shelf to scrutinize its cover illustration. "The Crystal Caves? Wow. I never realized what a dork you are."

Merlin stuck out his tongue. He found a pair pajama pants and pulled them up over his hips.

"You should try reading instead of watching TV. I can teach you, if you don't know how."

Arthur ignored the insult and got out of bed too, plucking his own pants off the floor. When he was somewhat dressed, he moved his attention to a green sewing machine in the corner. It looked straight out of a sixty's home magazine, which made him wonder if the thing even worked.

"What's this thing?" he asked, striding over and fiddling with a knob.

"Would you stop messing with my stuff?" Merlin chuckled. "The sewing machine is mom's. I did a lot of sewing on it back in high school, so she let me keep it in my room. Singer doesn't make them like that anymore, with the all-metal parts. It rarely breaks down, wish I could find another like it for my place."

"So you were into sewing, even before college?"

Merlin pulled on a long sleeve shirt, finishing the look with a signature scarf. "Mom sewed my clothes when I was younger, to save money. She taught me how to mend things elementary school, holes in socks, pants, that sort of thing." Then he laughed, a melancholy laugh that made Arthur's legs go boneless and his heartbeat a little louder. "I guess sewing grew on me."

Arthur tried to imagine how Merlin looked in elementary school; those reflective eyes on the impish face of a child, and one with patched clothes no less. He hadn't really considered Merlin's financial situation before. He didn't seem bad off, but his parent's house, with its sprouting grass roof and strange floors, that didn't scream upper class either. He knew Merlin worked hard at his part-time job at the coffee shop to pay his rent. More recently, he'd learned from Gwen that Merlin attended school through a mix of scholarships and personal loans, but he hadn't thought much about it. It couldn't have been easy for Merlin, paying his own way in life.

Merlin motioned Arthur closer, combing through his closet again. "Let's see if I can find you a clean shirt," he said, pulling out a tee with a skull on it and plastering it against Arthur's bare chest. "This is the biggest I own, but your shoulders are so broad—"

"Stop fussing," Arthur replied, taking the shirt from Merlin's outstretched hands and cramming it over his head. It was a tight fit, snug under the armpits, but it would do. "Hey Merlin, I was wondering, would you ever consider moving in together?"

Merlin made a puzzled face. "Um…we already live together."

"I meant on our own," Arthur elaborated. "We could get out of Oakland. How about the Castro, would you like that? Isn't that where all the gay's live? We could even get a cat if you'd like." He cupped Merlin's chin, then mumbled, "Although you'll probably insist on naming it something stupid, like Tom—"

"Castro's really expensive," Merlin groaned. "And how do you know what I'd name a cat?!"

"Do you like the idea or not?"

He stared at Arthur for a moment; his eyes brimming with an emotion that was difficult to read. "Yeah," Merlin whispered teasingly into Arthur's parted lips. "I do."

"Good," Arthur beamed. He stole a kiss, letting his lips trail across the morning stubble on Merlin's chin. "Mmm. scratchy. It's different. I like it."

"Well don't get used to it," Merlin replied, kissing Arthur so deeply that he could feel his heart stick in his throat. "I'm shaving after breakfast."

*

Despite coping with a vegan crash diet that had his stomach screaming for a bloddy steak, Arthur found his stay at the Emrys house pleasant. Merlin's parents were genuine and kind to a fault, lavishing their attention onto Arthur and accepting him into the house as one of their own. Merlin's mother even remarked over dinner how handsome the pair looked together, eliciting a delicious blush from Merlin.

Arthur had only spent four days with the Emrys, but he could already tell that with parents like Giaus and Hunith, Merlin was truly the richer of the two of them.

He tried his best to be useful and gracious to his hosts. He helped Merlin's mother carry her groceries home from the local market, did yard work for Gauis, and volunteered to drive Merlin to and from work in the family's sky blue VW bus (even though it made Arthur feel like a Scooby-Doo character, the annoying blond one. He imagined stealing Merlin's scarf one day to complete the look).

At night Arthur kept his word to Merlin, standing for fittings of Merlin's fashion competition piece, which was progressing nicely.

On his fifth day at the Emrys house the calls came, two on the same day. The first call had Arthur holding his cell away from his ear, confused by the shrieking on the other end.

"You selfish pig!" a voice screamed in his ear.

"Always a pleasure, Morgan," Arthur replied cheerily.

"I can't believe you," the female voice continued. "Is that all you do in college? Think with your dick?"

He imagined Morgan standing in a crowded mall, screaming "dick" at the top of her lungs into her phone as shoppers gasped. It would be just like her.

"I don't follow, you'll have to be more specific, sis," Arthur said, goading her on.

"I heard what you did." Morgan snapped back. "How could you cheat on Gwen, after all you two have been through! You'd toss her aside for some—"

Arthur held his breath.

_Shit. The truth was finally catching up to him._

"For some skank at your school!"

"Huh?" Arthur sputtered.

"Oh, you think Gwen wouldn't tell me what you did to her? How long did you think you could hide that you were cheating on one of my best friends?" Morgan replied. "What's the girl look like, huh? Let me guess, Arthur, some trashy bleach-head with the big fake tits?"

Arthur let Morgan roll out the insults, ignoring her. He could have laughed out loud. So, he had been right, Gwen did tell Morgan that he'd cheated on her and, heck if Morgan knew, the gossip had probably spread back to all their mutual friends back home by now. But Gwen had told Morgan that Arthur had cheated on her with a _woman_.

It was an unbelievable mercy on Gwen's part. By a small miracle Morgan hadn't seen the video of him and Merlin making out. Gwen must have deleted it immediately from her Facebook and blocked Nimueh minutes after she'd posted it. Arthur was safe. His father didn't know... he wouldn't know.

Arthur owed Gwen, big-time. He could barely believe it, and neither could Merlin when Arthur told him.

The second call came later in the evening, a composed female voice addressing him as "Mr. Pendragon".

"I told you before, call me Arthur," Arthur replied, happy to hear from the school counselor.

There was a pause on the line followed by a hurried, "Arthur, we reviewed the security tapes. Are you and Mr. Emrys available Thursday to meet with the dean and give your statements?"

Arthur swallowed. "Well, I don't see why—"

"The school is reversing your suspensions," Mrs. Lynne interrupted, voice raising an octave higher. "Winter term break starts Monday, and we'd like to sort this out for you and Mr. Emrys before spring semester."

*

The dean of the school was a thin man with chestnut hair and overly expressive eyes. Arthur had never met him in person, but he'd seen his picture in a presentation during orientation week. He was a man who looked professional in photos, but in real life Arthur thought he resembled a doe stuffed into a business suit. A friendly, soft kinda guy, who'd listen patiently to boring stories, or maybe help you move if you had no one else to do it.

The dean nodded at Arthur and Merlin as they explained their side of the situation, whispering to Mrs. Lynne when they paused to catch a breath. He asked them ten times if they were comfortable, offered them coffee and vanilla biscotti, and assured them that CCA had a "No Hate" policy, and that the "situation" was being remedied.

Miss Evienne would be permanently expelled from the school, Arthur learned. The dean went as far to suggest that Arthur and Merlin file legal actions against her with the local police department.

They talked it over in private, but Merlin wouldn't hear any of it. He was loath to get into a lengthy legal battle, preferring to move on with his life. Eventually he and Arthur agreed that with Nimueh expelled, the best thing they could do was put the past behind them and move forward.

The suspensions were reversed, their records clean, but for Arthur, that came with conditions. Because of what the dean had deemed a "violent outburst" on Arthur's part during the open critique, Arthur would have to attend bi-monthly counseling sessions with Mrs. Lynne, which he reluctantly agreed to.

They were no longer suspended, but with the school's month-long winter break starting on Monday; it was important that they tie up all loose academic ends before the start of the new semester. Arthur was the luckier of the two; he only had one final to make up, the stupid iPhone project with Gwaine. Merlin had several weeks' worth of assignments to set straight thanks to Nimueh, so he stayed behind in the counselor's office, talking to his studio teacher, Barbara, about how to re-grade his last few projects.

It was outside of the school while waiting for Merlin that Arthur spotted the queen bitch herself, strutting through the main entrance like she owned the place. Nimueh was impossible to miss, a spot of blood on a white shirt. Everything about her screamed for attention, and she was dressed to stun. She must have received a call to come into the school too, but her over-confident posture told Arthur that she had no idea the true nature of her meeting today with the dean.

Arthur ducked behind a car, but it was no use. Nimueh had already spotted him, smirking and waving a mocking goodbye in his direction.

"You think I'm the one who's leaving?" Arthur called from across the parking lot. "Big Brother is everywhere, Nimueh, and he knows what a conniving rat you've been."

Nimueh spit on the sidewalk before grabbing the entrance door handle, but Arthur didn't let up. He pointed towards the roof of the school and said, "These little security cameras are amazing, aren't they? They have them everywhere in the school, did you know that? Even in the classrooms."

Nimueh hesitated at the door, pouting.

_His stalling technique had worked._

"What the hell are you going on about," she snapped.

"The counselor told me some fascinating details about earlier, how security stores everything these cameras record for months before the tapes are cleared. Why don't you think back into that dark memory of yours, Nimueh, clear away the cobwebs and black widows, and tell me where it was that Merlin was working on all your school assignments?"

Nimueh spun around. "So fucking what? I already told the counselor that Merlin sold his work out for money. You think you can convince those idiots he's innocent by showing footage of that fairy sewing? Sure. Right."

Arthur bristled. He stomped across the street and stood in front of Nimueh, holding the door shut with his hands. "Where were you when you slapped blackmail on him, huh? Do you even remember what you said, word for word, Nimueh? You _DO_ know those cameras record audio _AND_ video, right?"

Nimueh blanched.

"Yep. That's right. Now, the way I see it you have two choices, you can turn around and drop out of school ASAP, or, you wait for the dean to kick you out as soon as you enter the counseling office. I don't give a fuck which option you choose."

"You can't do this—" she hissed up at him.

Arthur shrugged. "This is my game now, my rules. The thing you should have realized before you decided to fuck with Merlin and me is that I'm a Pendragon, and Pendragons always play to win."

Arthur savored the last word like a dessert. He opened the door wide for Nimueh, who, to his surprise, scurried inside like a frightened animal.

As she stumbled through the school entrance, tripping over her four-inch heels, Arthur finally saw Nimueh for what she really was. An opportunist, all bark and no bite. A scared, selfish little girl, who'd dug herself int too deep and was finally realizing the grave consequences of her actions.

Without his fear, Nimueh was nothing.

The revelation made Arthur grin.

*

 

Merlin pulled a compostable cup off of a tower of stacked cups. He shook his wrist, forced the used coffee grounds out of the espresso machine and tapped them into a metal trash bin. With a smooth pour Merlin added hot espresso into the drink he was making, topping it with a layer of frothy foam as Freya punched a total in the cash register with bored precision.

"Enjoy," Merlin smiled at the customer.

The college-aged girl on the other side of the counter giggled, brushing Merlin's hand briefly as he passed her the drink. She stuffed a few bills in the tip jar, glancing over her shoulder a second time at Merlin before she reached the door.

"Careful," Freya smirked. "You don't want that new boyfriend of yours getting jealous."

"What?" Merlin replied, wiping a spill of milk off the counter.

Freya pinched his cheek, chuckling, "Oh honey, you really are so clueless", and went about adding more cups to the tower.

The bells at the front door sang again. "Customer at twelve o'clock," Freya called.

Merlin walked to the register, looking at the man in the cream khaki's who'd just entered.

"It's been a while, Mer. Do you have a moment?" Lancelot asked.

Merlin stared at his friend. He was unsure what to make of this unannounced visit, or the way Lance tapped his foot nervously on the floor.

"Take a break, I don't mind," Freya said, moving from the stocking of coffee cups to the re-filling of creamers.

Merlin pulled off his apron and hung it behind the counter. "Let's go out back," he said, guiding Lance past the cleaning supplies.

As soon as they were outside, Merlin lifted up a coffee tin near the door, pulling out a pack of cigarettes hidden under its disintegrating body.

"Still haven't quit?" Lance asked, zipping up the front of his sports jacket to keep out the chill.

Merlin rolled up his long sleeve shirt, revealing a nicotine patch stuck on his upper bicep.

"Then what's with the pack?"

"These are my emergencies," Merlin replied, pleased that he'd had the foresight to stash them there.

He pulled out his lighter, shielding it from the wind and wincing as the flame tickled his palm. Smoking had always comforted Merlin, ever since he had started the habit at seventeen. He didn't' want to quit, and he loved the feeling of having his lungs bundled in a warm nicotine blanket.

But, he'd promised Arthur that he would try to quit, and Arthur call Merlin out on it whenever he smelled the smoke on Merlin's clothes at night. Still, the momentary pleasure was worth it.

Merlin watched Lance settle awkwardly against the wall. Whatever it was he needed to say, he didn't look happy about it.

"Gwen told me what happened," Lance said, looking sickly under the overhead lighting. "I still can't believe it, Merlin. This whole situation is so unlike you."

Merlin took a few draws of his cigarette, slowly pushing the smoke out his mouth. "If you're thirsty, I'd be happy to go inside and make you a cup of coffee, but if you're here to give me a morality lecture, I'd like you to leave. I've had enough of those in my voicemail this week."

"I was right, wasn't I? You and Arthur weren't drinking that night at the White Horse. All this time-"

"Look, I'm sorry I hurt Gwen, I am!" Merlin snapped.

He could feel his shoulders tensing. He didn't want to be upset, not with Lance, but lance was rubbing salt on raw nerves. Merlin had heard this speech already from Kat, from half the fashion department; he didn't need to hear it again from Lance.

"Arthur and I went about things all wrong, you think we don't know that? I knew it was wrong when it was happening! You think I'm not completely sick with myself? Gwen won't even talk to me anymore, and that's something I have to live with. I don't need another damn lecture about it from you or anyone else!"

"I wasn't planning on lecturing you," Lance said cautiously. "I just want to talk. Merlin, I was convinced Arthur had tried to hurt you that night at your apartment, I was furious. Do you have any idea how much I wanted to kick his ass? But this whole time you guys were..."

Lance shook his head, closed his eyes and said, "Can you blame me for being disappointed? I never trusted Arthur to be faithful to Gwen, not from the moment I met him, but I never expected that from you. So what was going on with you two exactly? What was it a…a physical thing?"

"At first, yes." Merlin swallowed. "It'd been a long time since Will."

Lancelot rolled his eyes, making Merlin even more embarrassed.

"What, do you think it was easy, sharing an apartment with some like Arthur?" Merlin groaned, forcing the memory of Arthur wrapped in a towel out of his head. "I didn't want this to happen. I didn't mean to give Gwen's boyfriend the time of day, let alone fall for him!"

Merlin crushed his cigarette under his Converse. He ran his hands across his face, hiding his eyes. "There's so much to Arthur, Lance, things you haven't seen. He's blunt, and yes, a bit of an ass, but he's also witty, talented; I don't think he understands the potential he has. If he could just accept who he is and not what his father wants him to be, he could do so much with his life. I want to help him, Lance. To be with him. Is that so wrong? "

"I can't forgive you for hurting her," Lance said in a matter of fact voice.

Merlin looked at the ground. He'd let two of his best friends down. Lance was virtuous; he'd been in love with Gwen for years, but had never so much as stolen a kiss from her. Merlin had always seen himself on the same level as Lance when it came to morality, well, until he'd gone and hopped into bed with Arthur. He could never repair the damage he'd done to his reputation in Lance's eyes, and he knew it.

"I tried calling Gwen, but she won't pick up her phone. I've tried texted, emailed, pm'd,  what else can I do?"

Lance shook his head. "She's not ready, Merlin, not even close. I didn't even tell her I was coming to see you, she would have flipped."

"So you've been checking in on Gwen? That's really nice of you."

"I've been um… staying at your place."

"You've been—What?"

"Staying in your room, Merlin, not hers!" Lance quipped. A note of hope entered his voice, touching his eyes as he said. "It's nothing like that between us, but… I think it could be. When she's ready. If she's ready."

He licked his lips. "Maybe I'm a horrible person for admitting this, but I'm not mad at you, Merlin. I'm disappointed, but not mad. What you and Arthur did was wrong, but how could I stay angry now that Gwen's single for the first time since I've known her? She wants me in her life now. She asked for me."

"You don't have to say anymore, Lance. I understand."

Lance sighed. "It looks like were both in deep, huh? Whatever happened to your 'Love's not for me' speech?"

"Things change," Merlin replied. "I've changed, or maybe he's changed me. When Arthur first moved in I couldn't wait for him to be gone, but now the thought of losing him terrifies me." He rubbed goose bumps off his arms and muttered. "Does that make me selfish?"

"Well, It makes you foolish, and in love," Lance replied. "Sometimes they are one and the same, and unfortunately, I know that feeling. Look Merlin, I'll see what I can do about getting Gwen to talk with you. In the meantime, if you and Arthur need things from the apartment I could probably manage to sneak out a bag while Gwen's at work, but that's the best I can offer."

"That would be great, I'm running out of clean underwear. You could leave our stuff at the café, Freya won't mind."

Lancelot smiled. He patted Merlin on the shoulder and said softly, "You're still my friend, Merlin. Whatever happens, I still care about you and I don't want to choose sides."

"Thanks, Lance," Merlin said, leaning down to put his pack back in its hiding spot. "That means a lot."

"Although I think you could have done better than Arthur." Lance added.

"I'll make sure to let him know that," Merlin grinned, swatting away a milky colored moth that had strayed away from the overhead light. "Now, how about I get you some coffee?"

*

 

"Ugh, it looks like puke!" Arthur said, holding the lid off of the compost bin.

Merlin was dressed in his stepfather's threadbare jacket, a beanie covering his head. He crunched through piles of colorful oak leaves with a metal bucket in his arms. With a grunt he approached Arthur and the wooden box as deep as a coffin, tossing the moldy bucket contents inside.

"What did you expect, it's compost," Merlin replied, making certain every scrap of food fell from the buckets bottom. "Now stop complaining; like I told you, it doesn't even smell."

Arthur took a speculative whiff over the compost bin. Merlin was right. For as bad as the bin looked, it only smelled like damp earth, ammonia, and the food they were throwing in.

"Wait until your fashion department buddies hear about this," Arthur teased. "The glamorous Merlin Emrys, designer extraordinaire, wearing a beanie and tending to crap in his parent's backyard—"

"It's not crap," Merlin snapped. "Were vermicomposting, and that is pure organic decomposed matter; it's a great natural garden fertilizer! And if anyone has a right to complain, it's the worms, not you. They're the ones doing all the hard work."

"Decomposing matter, crap, same difference," Arthur replied, capping the compost bin as quickly as possible. "So what are we going to do over winter break? Besides staring at a bunch of worms."

"Well," Merlin said, "Since my Art's of Fashion competition piece is finished and in the mail, we could search for an apartment. I love mom and dad, but I don't want to stay with them forever."

"Agreed. I feel bad enough staying this long, but I was thinking a vacation would be nice?"

"Let me guess, the tropics?" Merlin grinned. "Beach-side with fruity drinks, that the plan?"

"Imagine somewhere colder."

"Lake Tahoe? Arthur I can't ski and I don't' have much extra money."

"Colder," Arthur replied. "And don't worry about the money, I'll cover your flight ticket, meals and lodging will be free."

Merlin went to the side of the house, unwound a green garden house and rinsed out the empty metal bucket. He handed it to Arthur and said slowly, "You're not thinking—"

"Why not? I've met your parents, wouldn't you like to meet my father? Watch his eyes bug out when I tell him, _forget about grand kids, dad, your only son's a homosexual_." Arthur smirked.

"Arthur, that's ridiculous. And uou have everything settled, why stir the pot?"

"Because that's just it, it's not settled, Merlin!" He barked, hanging the bucket back on a nail by the door. "So my dad didn't find out about us this time, but what happens if Gwen changes her mind? Am I never supposed to update my Facebook relationship status? Or how about when we move in together? If dad comes to visit am I supposed to send you packing to your parent's, pretend I live alone? Worse yet pretend you're my _roommate_?"

"What about school?"

"You pay for your school, I can figure out how to pay for mine."

Merlin's mouth curled into a grimace, letting Arthur know that he was far from convinced.

"I'm not afraid of hard work, I've held jobs before!" Arthur said. "I've already talked the idea over with Mrs. Lynne. She said I can apply for loans for the new semester, and supplement my income with work-study through the college. There's no reason why I can't support myself like you do."

"I don't know…"

He grabbed Merlin's hand, still chilly and damp from the hose water.

Arthur kissed Merlin's cheek and said, "I'm tried of hiding. I want to start my life for real this time, with you. I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm not, can't you understand that? It would mean the world to me to have you there when I tell him."

Merlin sighed. "So, what does a person wear to Indiana in the middle of December?"

*

For the three day visit, Merlin had packed four pairs of pants, three pairs of shoes, six shirts, a pair of pajamas, and two thick woolen sweaters, all of which he worried over the entire flight.

"I know the sweaters are fine, and the shirts," Merlin said, tapping a pen on a finished People crossword puzzle. "But what about my jeans? You don't think they look too—"

Arthur peered up from his second Jack Daniels. He could hear the stewardess's cart rolling up the isle, and the inane conversation she was striking with the balding passenger ahead of them. If he was quick enough, Arthur might be able to beg her for a refill.

He wasn't even in the same state as his father yet and he was already nervous enough to turn towards liquid courage. It didn't bode well.

"Yes, your jeans scream gay, Merlin," Arthur answered sarcastically. "Gayer than a unicorn riding a rainbow-"

"I was going to say _tight_ , jerk.", Merlin snorted, sucking the straw of his ginger ale.

"Oh. Well, they're that too," Arthur said, running a hand over Merlin's knuckles. "Anyway, under a sweater and coat, no one is going to see your jeans. You'll need to wear a sweater and a coat there, if not two sweaters. We'll both be fabric marshmallows the entire trip and honestly, I'm going to miss ogling at that ass of yours."

Icy runway conditions held them up in Chicago, delaying their transfer flight. By the time they boarded another, arriving at the South Bend Regional airport, it was just after eight pm, five hours behind their expected arrival time.

Arthur grabbed their bags off the only luggage carousel in the empty airport. ""Morgan was going to pick us up, but she couldn't wait, dinner obligations with her friends. We'll catch a cab to my father's."

Merlin nodded, and rummaged through his wallet, "I've got a twenty and..." He squinted, peering at the white world on the other side of the window. As if on cue, a gust of powder whipped against the glass. "Is this weather for real?" He gulped. "It looks like someone just flipped a snow globe upside-down."

"Welcome to winter, love," Arthur said, tenderly wrapping Merlin's neck in his scarf until only his nose and cheekbones peeked out over the wooly plaid. "I told you you'd need two sweaters."

*

 

Behind a cover of snow and a weathered streetlight stood a house—if it could be called that. A more adequate term would have been "mansion", but Merlin had a difficult time applying such a word to real life. The red brick exterior of the mansion screamed old money, the domineering black windowpanes looking like expensive prison bars. The curtains were fully closed, shielding the inside from Merlin's view.

"You're sure this is the right address?" Merlin asked. "It looks more like a castle."

Arthur took their bags out of the cab, leaning them against an ornate mailbox. "It's as cold as one, but that's where the similarities end."

The cobblestone path ahead glittered with salt crystals; shoveled snow piled three feet high along the sides. Merlin admired the marshmallow appearance of these "mini mountains". With a self-satisfied grin he twirled round, letting his long body fall backward into a pile of the chilled fluff.

"What on earth are you doing?" Arthur snorted

"Making snow angels," Merlin giggled, flailing his limbs up and down. "This is my vacation, I want to have some fun while I'm here."

Arthur bit his lip. "You're an idiot," he said, but the soft tone told Merlin that Arthur thought he was anything but.

Arthur looked behind his shoulder, making sure the cab had left. When they were alone, he offered Merlin his hand.

_It was unbelievably warm._

Arthur lifted Merlin to his feet with a swift tug. He dusted the powder off of Merlin's back, giving him a firm kiss that had Merlin admiring how fresh Arthur's chilled lips felt against his own.

"I want you to be prepared before you walk in there. My family isn't like yours, Merlin. It's better if we keep 'us' quiet—for now." Arthur said.

Merlin shoved his hands back into his coat for warmth, wishing he could hold onto Arthur's hand for just a little longer. "As far as your family is concerned, I'm a friend from school, that's all. You don't need to tell them about us until you're ready, and if that doesn't turn out to be on this trip, that's OK too. 

"God, do you have any idea how much I love you?" Arthur sighed, thumbing Merlin's frostbitten cheek.

"Enough to open the door?" Merlin asked through chattering teeth.

Merlin was almost relieved that no one came to greet them when they entered. They unraveled their winter clothes, hanging them up in a spotless mudroom, and moved into the grand foyer of the Pendragon home. It was like a set from a movie, a crystal chandelier glistening over a grand staircase and inlaid oak floors.

"Is that your deer?" Merlin asked, pointing to a mounted buck's head perched with more exotic species on the twenty-foot high wall.

Arthur stared proudly at his mounts glassy eyes. "In the flesh. The rest of the trophies are my Father's."

"Creepy," Merlin shuddered. "The whole wall is a creepy wall of death."

"They're going to haunt you when you sleep." Arthur said in his best Vincent Price voice, tickling Merlin's ribs.

Merlin slapped him away. "More like you! You're the one that killed the poor—"

Arthur kicked Merlin's shoe, and Merlin took the cue, instantly taking a large step back and smoothing out his dress shirt.

A man was descending the staircase, expression harder than the wooden banister he held on to.

_So, this must be Uther Pendragon._

Merlin's first impression of Arthur's father was that he was well dressed but not fussy, a no-frills man, with a head crowned in thick silver-grey hair. He seemed fully secure in his middle age, his strides wide and purposeful, but what struck Merlin were his eyes. Arthur's father's eyes were the same blue as his sons, but where Arthur's shown clear, Uther's were dulled under the weight of a deep brow, color crushed by its shadow.

When Uther reached the ground level, he greeted his son with a curt, "Arthur", and a firm handshake.

"Father," Arthur replied, with equal enthusiasm.

Merlin was nervous, but he didn't let it show. He offered his hand too, his face wearing the mask of calm normally reserved for school critiques and customers at work. "You've a beautiful home, Mr. Pendragon," he said.

Uther stared blankly at him. "This is…?" he asked aloud.

Merlin was taller than Uther, but he could scarcely tell. The man's presence was a black hole, dwarfing all around him. The longer Uther gawked at Merlin, the longer Merlin wondered what he'd done wrong. _Was it his clothes? His hair? Did he have something in his teeth? Or, shit, had Uther heard his snarky remark about the taxidermy?_

Mrelin shuddered. Imagining his own head on a wooden plaque.

The insult to Merlin ruffled Arthur, his words coming out clipped. "This, is my friend from school. I told you he was coming to stay. To visit the Notre Dame Campus."

"Merlin Emrys, pleased to meet you," Merlin added, trying to look unperturbed.

Uther shook Merlin's hand with stiff obligation, squeezing a little too tight for comfort. "Your fight was two hours late, Arthur." he barked.

"The connection was delayed. I can't control the snow, Father."

"I had to cancel an important meeting because of your poor scheduling. Next time you're going to be late, spend the evening at a hotel. You have the finances."

"Noted," Arthur swallowed. "I promise it won't happen again."

Arthur's quick obedience softened Uther, approval settling in the lines of his mouth. He patted Arthur briefly on the shoulder, as if the contact would burn him if he held it too long.

"You must be tired. I have a call to take in my study, why don't you take your friend upstairs to the guest room and… make yourselves at home." Uther said, his tone suggesting that, at least where Merlin was concerned, he meant anything but.

Merlin loudly exhaled when he entered Arthur's bedroom. He'd been holding his breath all the way up the staircase, though he hadn't realized it until now.

Arthur's room was massive and as impersonal as a government office. There were sports banners; a shelf full of sparkling athletic trophies, but nothing else to show a teen had lived there. It was almost as if the room had been staged for display over comfort.

Merlin rolled his bag to the corner of the richly furnished space, flopping down on a four-post bed teeming with pillows. "Watching you and your Father talk is as like a verbal boxing match."

"Except it's not always verbal," Arthur groaned.

Concern puckered Merlin's mouth.

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine." 

Arthur jumped next to Merlin on the bed, the force knocking Merlin a few inches up off the mattress. "We'll keep our mouths shut, nod when he wants us to. As long as you don't talk about sports and eat what's put on your plate, we're golden. I've planned the trip so we'll leave on a Saturday, that gets us out of church and  Sunday mass, another potential headache."

Mischief spread across Arthur's face, thinning his lips. "Although I'm do for a good confession after the fun we've been having."

"When will you tell your father?"

He leaned against Merlin's shoulder, playing with a tassel of a silken pillow sham. "The last day of the trip. That will make life easier for everyone."

Somehow Merlin doubted this, but there was sincere belief in Arthur's tone, and Merlin didn't have the heart to contradict him. Instead he mumbled, "We could always make this a vacation, nothing else. A nice trip to see your family, what's wrong with that?"

"I didn't fly 2,000 plus miles to chicken out."

"I know. It's just…. I have a bad feeling about it all."

Arthur's answer was to roll on top of Merlin, straddling him tightly between his thighs. "You and your feelings," he cooed, giving Merlin a pouting look so adorable, it could melt paint off walls.

"Excuse me for having more emotions than lust and vanity," Merlin replied, inwardly cursing the fact that a single dose of Arthur's puppy face made him woozy. He batted Arthur back with one of the many pillows at his disposal, but Arthur caught it mid swipe and threw it to the floor.

He crept his fingers up Merlin's shirt, sliding out one button, then a second, until white skin and the faint line of a happy trail came into view.

"What emotion am I switched onto now?" Arthur purred, planting a row of gentle kisses down Merlin's chest.

"No way," Merlin replied, dogging kisses with a roll to his right. "If you think I'm doing anything with your father in the house, you're a bigger fool than I realized."

Arthur refused to let Merlin budge from underneath him. "This is my house too," he countered.

"And my place in that house is the guest room. Aren't you supposed to be helping me bring my things there?"

"A fantastic idea!" Arthur grabbed Merlin by the hand, yanking him into the hallway as Merlin held closed his open shirt. As soon as they were inside the guest room, Arthur locked the door, confirmed the curtains were closed, and pushed a dizzy Merlin defiantly onto the king sized mattress.

"You're insane," Merlin whispered up at him.

"I thought I only had two emotions," Arthur replied, pressing his face into Merlin's collarbone.

"I was mistaken, you have three. Four if you count…if you count prattyness—"

"That isn't a word," Arthur drawled. He pulled his shirt over his head, letting Merlin admire the view. Arthur's skin kissed golden from the California sun, the musculature of his torso, sturdy and athletic from weekly workouts. When he was certain he had Merlin's full attention, Arthur continued trailing pecks at the pulse-point of Merlin's throat.

Merlin could feel the caressing intensify. The chaste kisses turning to bruising love bites that tingled with a painful pleasure that made his blood rush.

"No hickeys…" He sighed, his voice thinning, sounding less and less resistant. "Someone could see them."

"Think of these as art," Arthur replied, admiring his handiwork. He let his mouth make a last purple claim at the base of Merlin's neck, then added, "The bed sheets, your body, they're all my canvas tonight…"

He straddled Merlin again, Arthur's arms holding strong around at Merlin's waist, erection strained against his jeans. He rubbed it against Merlin's thigh in wordless invitation, and Merlin found he was lost again, craving. As was always the case with Arthur, once they started, there was no going back.

Merlin exhaled, breath hitching as Arthur's tongue went straight for one of his earlobes.

_God damn it. Why did he always have to go for the ears?_

"He'll hear us," Merlin whimpered, voice on edge.

Arthur walked his fingers up Merlin's thigh, cupping a bulge at front of Merlin's skinny jeans that perfectly filled his large hand.

"He won't if we're quiet." Arthur whispered, making slow circular motions with his palm. "You can be quiet for me, can't you love?"

Merlin had more than enough.

"Me?"

Merlin wiggled free of Arthur's leg hold and slid his body down, slipping the belt from Arthur's jeans before unzipping them with his mouth in a prolonged and teasing fashion. Arthur made a soft plea into the air, and without warning Merlin slid his hand down the loose elastic of Arthur's boxers, his fingers curling skillfully around Arthur's cock.

He slid it out, letting his mouth take the place of his hands.

Arthur hissed softly, his hips easing into a rhythm that matched Merlin's stroking tongue. Merlin continued until Arthur was bowed and panting above him, his noises of pleasure carefully constrained.

Careful was key. Uther was downstairs, and still awake. Though this thought terrified Merlin, a wicked part of him wanted Arthur all the more for that. Merlin wanted make love with Arthur, in this room, to spite his father. To let Arthur stretch him out, push deep inside, the two of them making love in a bed that Merlin was meant to sleep in alone...

"Christ, point taken—" Arthur finally gasped, pulling himself out of Merlin's mouth and dragging Merlin top of him.

"Not nearly enough." Merlin protested, licking the warm taste of Arthur on his lips.

"I can't believe I'm actually getting some in this house." Arthur grinned.

"With something other than your right hand?" Merlin smirked.

Arthur chuckled, and undid Merlin's pants, his expression that of a child impatiently unwrapping their Christmas present. "Need a reminder of what my hand's can _do_?"

"No," Merlin said, squirming as Arthur's hand brushed across the bare skin of his ass. "But I wouldn't mind a trick or two from that mouth of yours."

 


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, and I own nothing. :)

Disappointment felled Merlin like a sucker punch to the gut. There wasn't a speck of green on the plates laid before him. Merlin surveyed the burnt hash browns, the gravy, the scrambled eggs, and the three varieties of meat ( _who eats bacon, sausage and ham in one sitting?_ ), but there wasn't so much as a parsley garnish to be found.

Breakfast at the Pendragon household was served promptly at 7:00am, and Merlin had known better than to oversleep. The combination of time difference, sex, and airplane food had made Merlin famished anyway, his stomach waking him with it's grumbling complaints. Merlin ignored its gnawing, sprawling across the Egyptian cotton sheets and feeling at the expansive emptiness on either side of him.

It had been lonely—waking up solo for the first time in weeks.

Merlin straightened up the linens, which should have been a two-person job for a bed this big, wishing for the help of a second set of hands, preferably firm calloused ones—skilled with a paintbrush. Once he was fully groomed, he knocked on Arthur's door, the tension slipping from his shoulders as it opened.

Arthur did a double take when he saw Merlin, gawking at his dark jeans and the logo hoodie that barely covered the hickey clusters on his neck. The heavy layers of winter clothing made Merlin appear a few pounds heavier then he was, and Merlin supposed this a good thing. Today, he'd planned to look like more of a challenge for Uther to snap in half.

Before they reached the ground floor, Arthur had tugged back Merlin's hoodie. "You look so…normal," he said. "It's weird."

"So much for blending in. Do you know how long it took me to find something to cover these bruises, Arthur? I was afraid I'd have to borrow your sister's makeup."

"It's a good look on you."

"Makeup? Are you joking? You'd better not be getting any ideas."

Arthur traced one of Merlin's hickeys with his thumb, smug looking as ever.

"Oh. You mean my looking like a junior high kid after seven minutes in heaven?"

"No," Arthur mumbled, hiding his handiwork back under the folds of fabric. "You looking like you're mine."

_His._

Merlin fought back memories of this morning, and last night, deathly aware that now was not the time to be thinking about Arthur in _that way_. He rubbed the bridge of is nose, returning to breakfast and giving Uther a sidelong glace to make sure that he was still reading his newspaper.

A leg hooked Merlin's calf underneath the dining table, jolting him with surprise.

"You've got to eat something," Arthur said under his breath. "How about the hash browns? Those are vegan, right?"

"Not when they've been cooked in bacon fat." Merlin sighed.

"Eggs, then? Pretend its tofu, or quinoa, or that muesli crap you like—"

Merlin did his best to ignore how Arthur's calf nuzzled comfortably against his. The physical contact was jarring, yet satisfying. "You mean the embryos?" Merlin whispered, stirring the eggs with his fork. "These drippy, icky, embryos..."

Arthur gave Merlin a no-nonsense _my father is watching us_ grunt, and Merlin stuffed a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, chewing them like broken glass. It was the first time he'd eaten animal protein in ten years and his disgust must have shown, Arthur stifling a laugh into his napkin.

How the hell was this funny? Just because Arthur had spent weeks at Merlin's parent's house eating vegetables he'd had to teach Arthur to pronounce (jicama), that didn't mean Arthur had the right to put Merlin through torture.

Uther flipped over a page of the financial section, the crisp sound of the newsprint rustling in the fancy-smancy dining room. The room consisted of a heavy mahogany table, high ceilings, and rows of cushioned chairs made to serve twenty, not the meager three the room held. Arthur's father had said a low good morning to them as they'd sat at the breakfast table, making them close their eyes to say Grace before eating. After the one-minute ritual, he'd outright ignored them; which was just fine in Merlin's book.

Arthur didn't flinch at his father's behavior, taking his seat beside Uther, and, as soon as he was permitted, he tucked into his breakfast with the ferocity of a competitive eater. Merlin watched Arthur's languid chewing. How his face changed from pleased, to positively orgasmic when he devoured sausages and double portion of scrambled eggs.

Uther's voice rose through the scraping of cutlery. "Arthur. How are your classes going?" he asked pleasantly.

Arthur grabbed another piece bacon from a platter. "Great. I got straight A's this semester." he smiled.

"Have you given any thought to an Internship?"

"No, not yet."

"I'm surprised that you haven't secured one already," Uther said sharply. "It's already your junior year, Arthur."

"I have plenty of time left to apply."

"Most students don't apply for internships until spring semester or summer vacation," Merlin added, taking another pained bite of eggs.

Uther drank slowly from his coffee mug, leaving a dark stain on its upper lip. When he spoke again to Merlin, it was with thinly veiled contempt. "My son is not most students. How many times have I told you, if you want to get ahead in life, you play ahead of the game; you make sure that you're on top by showing initiative, putting in extra effort."

"Yes, Sir," Arthur swallowed.

"I don't pay $40,000 a semester for you to slack off, Arthur. You're twenty-three years old, not three, and you made the choice to go to an art school on my dime instead of a _real_ college, so you damn well better not fuck things up. I want a solid degree in your hand at the end of this farce, a real career, am I making myself clear?"

Arthur pushed away his plate, as if he'd suddenly lost his appetite. "I'll take care of it," he said, his face drawn tight.

Merlin looked helplessly towards Arthur, but Arthur wouldn't meet Merlin's eyes, instead folding and refolding the cloth napkin in his lap. Merlin had never seen Arthur act like this, so timid. The Arthur that Merlin knew always spoke his mind, to the point of being crass. While on occasion this made Merlin want to slap the cocky bastard across his face, Arthur's bravado always made him a little hot under the collar too, if he was honest.

Merlin's stomach churned, his hand gripping his fork tightly. He wasn't sure what disgusted him more, that Arthur was so emotionally controlled by his father, or the pleasure that Uther seemed to derive from his power play. It hadn't escaped Merlin's notice that as soon as Arthur had stopped eating, Uther had regained a healthy appetite, heaping more greasy food onto his plate and chewing leisurely as a king.

This was all a game to Uther, one he apparently wasn't through with. He was waiting... calculating. Once Arthur had regained his normal color, Uther asked, "So, what are your plans for the week?"

"Going to the Football Hall of Fame Museum," Arthur answered carefully. "The Studebaker museum, and the Notre Dame campus, of course."

"It's a shame about the National Championships this year."

Uther's cold eyes locked on Merlin.

Merlin bit his tongue, tying not to gag while looking at the spittle in the corner of Uther's mouth. He felt like he was having a surprise quiz with the strictest teacher at school, but unlike his high school math days, Merlin was prepared. He'd studied college football basics with Arthur on the flight in preparation, learning dull as dirt statistics, moves, and the major local team names. He could do this.

"Yeah," Merlin smiled, making sure to meet Uther's stoney expression head on. He dabbed his lips with his napkin, positioning it back on his plate to conceal a barely touched meal and added. "The Fighting Irish were robbed, weren't they?"

"Robbed?" The spittle trickled down Uther's chin. He wiped it clean with the back of his palm. "That's generous of you, The Crimson Tide massacred them this year. Didn't help our team played like a bunch of limp-wristed girls."

Merlin nodded a silent agreement. It was all he could do.

The wrinkle in Uther's brow relaxed. He folded his newspaper, pushed it aside and asked, "So, Merlin, who's your team back home? Stanford or USC?"

Merlin blinked his surprise.

 _Damn it._ He'd gone over plenty about college football with Arthur in the last 48 hours, but learned nothing about the teams in California. On this subject, he was utterly lost.

Merlin paused. "Stanford?" He said, his reply sounding more like a question than an answer.

Arthur, sensing the danger, changed the subject. "Dad, I was thinking you could join us for the campus tour, seeing as it's your old alma matter?"

"Time is money, Arthur," Uther said, falling into a familiar scowl. "You may be on vacation, but I have a merger coming up and two college loans to pay for. Do your sightseeing, and we'll have dinner together tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll call in a few favors and find you an internship, since my adult son can't be bothered to take it upon himself."

Arthur looked like he'd been slapped without a hand ever touching him. Whatever indifference Arthur had professed to Merlin about his father, the hurt his eyes didn't lie. Arthur cared about his father's opinion. It mattered to him, a lot.

"I'll clear the dishes," Arthur said, getting up from the table.

"I see moving out has taught you some responsibility," Uther replied, thrusting his empty coffee mug into Arthur's hand and a plate into Merlin's. "Hand wash those, boys. I don't' want to see any chips on my good china."

*

 

"Asshole!" Arthur snarled softly.

They padded into the kitchen, Arthur wincing at the chilly hard wood under his feet, he'd forgotten how the winter cold permeated into the floorboards. He wished he'd remembered to pack slippers, or an icepick, so that he could take a better stab at thawing his glacier of a father.

"Come on, boney," Arthur said, mussing Merlin's hopeless hair even more. "Let's see what greens I can find you to eat."

Merlin rubbed into the touch like a house-cat, placing the dirty breakfast dishes into a stainless steel sink. "You have two fridges?" he announced, turning circles in the open kitchen.

"We have lots of things; four cars, eight bedrooms, a pool. A whole mansion full of meaningless possessions and endless hostility."

"And floral still life paintings?" Merlin quipped, tilting his head towards a painting of lilies hung in the kitchen. "I didn't take your Father for an art connoisseur. More of the head-hunter sort."

"He isn't. That's my mother's painting."

The revelation made Merlin exhale. He nosed closer to the canvas. "It's Lovely," he concluded, settling on a bar stool that stood beside the counter. "Was she formally trained?"

Arthur sifted through the first fridge. "A two year degree in Fine Arts, but she gave that career up for my father when they got married, like a fool in love."

"I think I can sympathize…"

Arthur tore off the cap of a Tropicana juice with his teeth. "Are you joking? What the hell's romantic about that?"

Merlin frowned, looking ashamed that he'd opened his mouth. Arthur swallowed his guilt with a gulp of orange juice straight from the carton. He hated being short with Merlin. It made him feel like a prick, and reminded him that if he didn't keep his flaring temper in check, he'd morph into his father one day—the last person he wanted to be.

"What I meant is, being lovers means being equals," Arthur amended. "One partner shouldn't sacrifice everything for the other. I'll never let you jeopardize your future for me again, Merlin."

The first fridge turned up empty, so Arthur searched the second, putting the only veggies he could find on the granite counter top as a peace offering. If Merlin wasn't in the mood to eat celery and two carrots, well, that was his problem.

"I'm sorry about your Mother," Merlin said, biting off the tip off a wilting carrot. "I didn't mean to bring up a difficult subject."

"Her name was Ygraine, and don't be," Arthur shrugged. "It's not like I remember her. She had me two months early, died from complications with preeclampsia. She shouldn't have had a baby to begin with, from what I've heard she never very healthy. But my father wanted kids, and well, you've seen how he is. Uther gets what Uther wants and to hell with everyone else…"

Merlin's voice dropped. "Arthur, don't say that!"

Arthur ignored Merlin. He didn't want to hurt him, but neither could he handle the pity etched on his boyfriend's face. Arthur had gotten enough of that durring his childhood from friends and relatives with living mothers, mothers who packed them sandwiches for lunch. Mothers who had known and loved them.

Arthur had a brief taste of maternal attention during the seven years Morgan's mom was married to Uther. But even at five it didn't escape Arthur's notice that Morgan got twice as many cookies as him at snack time, and that his stepmother read Morgan stories and sang her songs before bed, instead making her go to sleep in a dark bedroom, all alone, as Arthur had.

He looked up at the painting. It was delicate, eerie in its soft beauty, just like the black and white photo of Ygraine on her wedding day that Uther kept on his nightstand. She looked like a child bride in the picture, a smile touching her lips as she stared kindly at whomever had taken the photo. Arthur had seen the photo and her paintings a thousand times, and yet he never tired of looking at either.

"Talk to me," Merlin pressed. He reached for Arthur's hand across the counter, his voice thick with concern. "Please."

Arthur shook away the old memories, saying more to himself then to Merlin, "Dad threw away most of my mom's belongings after she died, and Morgan's mom purged the rest, but I guess he couldn't bear to get rid of her paintings. I used to look at them for hours, until one day I decided to take up painting myself. It's laughable looking back; I was ham-fisted, far better with a baseball bat in my hand than a paintbrush. But I was convinced that learning to paint would help me understand the person she was. I never have, I never will, but in a way painting helped me understand myself,"

He let go of Merlin's fingers, eaned over the counter top and fiddled with the leafy stalk of the carrot in Merlin's mouth. "You could say going to art school saved me."

The edges of Merlin's eyes crinkled, his curiousity unmistakable. "How so?" he asked between bites.

"Because I never would have been this happy if I hadn't gone to California..."

Arthur tugged the half eaten carrot from Merlin's mouth. He leaned in, nibbling tentatively at Merlin's lips as if he were a main course. Merlin's eyes went half lidded, after a moment Arthur pulled back, adding smoothly, "And I never would have been this happy if I hadn't have met—"

"Met _whom_?"

A young woman came inside from the sliding door at the patio. She was clad in an open plum coat and black leggings that accentuated her slim calves. At her throat dangled a solitary diamond necklace, a present from her sweet sixteenth, jet-black hair dribbling in a loose boho braid. Arthur immediately recognized his half sister Morgan by her superfluous amount of cleavage, and lips that held a mischievous arch—just fishing for trouble.

"Oh, don't let me interrupt you, do go on," she teased, kicking the snow off of her boots.

"I didn't realize Uther unlocked your kennel this early, Morgan," Arthur grinned. "What's the matter, water bowl run dry?"

Morgan peered into the kitchen, checking to see that the door to the dining room was shut. She unzipped her boots and replied. "I spent the night Mom's."

"That a code word for Accolon's place?"

"Accolon and I are old news."

"Get back to me in a week, you two are as on again off again as rabbits." Arthur smirked.

The angry look on Morgan's face could have shot bullets, Arthuronly too happy when Morgan passed out of firing range, slipping onto a stool next to Merlin.

"As far as dear daddy is concerned, I'm not home yet. If either of you breathes a word to him, I swear I'll—"

Merlin choked nervously on his carrot.

Like a puma fixed on a crippled doe, Morgan turned. "Is this the friend from school dad said you were bringing?" She smirked. "He doesn't look like the usual meat-heads you hang out with, Arthur. He's kinda cute, actually, in a dorky way—"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Leave him alone..."

Merlin dropped his carrot and offered his hand. "I'm Merlin," he stammered. "Emrys."

"Merlin? That name's familiar... hey! You're Gwen's roommate right? I've seen pictures of you two together on Facebook, so that means your Arthur's-"

"He's my roommate by default," Arthur replied quickly. When Morgan raised a questioning eyebrow he added, "My social network in California isn't what it used to be. I'm working on it."

"You and Gwen go to fashion classes together, don't you, Merlin?" Morgan looked Merlin up and down like prime cut of meat, rolled her tongue across her front teeth and said, "Fashion. Huh. So Merlin, are you...?"

Arthur inwardly cursed. Hadn't he heard that line before? Said it himself only a few months ago? Morgana's powers of deduction and his own were eerily similar, even if Arthur would rather burn at the stake then ever admit that out loud.

Arthur inserted himself in-between them, with the pretext of giving Merlin an apple. "Would I have invited him down for the weekend if he was, Morgan?"

It wasn't a lie, more a like a trick. Morgan knew him as the old Arthur of infamous football keg nights, the Arthur who'd broken cheerleaders hearts with a single wink. He prayed that Morgana could still see him that way—at least, for a few more days.

"So, what's the vacation plan, boys?" She asked, Arthur's reply satisfying her curiosity—at least for the moment. "Get smashed at the local bars?"

"Basically," Arthur replied, heading back to the fridge. "This is my obligatory visit home, you're required to have one when you move away. I figure Merlin and I can tour the city, hit the bars, shovel snow, get frostbite, all that exciting shit."

"Tour South Bend? That will take all of five minutes, but I can help with the bar part. I'm meeting a few friends tonight at the Linebacker, you two can tag along, that is if Arthur promises not to rebound with another one of my friends."

Arthur slammed the fridge shut, a half-eaten Kraft single dangling from his mouth. "Let it go, Morgs—"

"But I'm still pissed at you," she cut.

"Come on! You ripped me a new asshole over the phone about Gwen. Let's move on—"

Morgan threaded her fingers together, considering. "Fine," she sighed, cradling her chin. "I'll play nice, but only because I never see you anymore."

Arthur swallowed what was left of his processed cheese. "You want something from me, is that it? So, what is it?

"I need a designated driver for tonight."

"No way."

Morgana sulked like a toddler with her hand caught in the cookie jar. "Come on, just do it, Arthur. We can take dad's truck-"

"If I agree, will you promise not to hug me?"

"Ewwww, gross. I'd prefer bonding overe liquor," Morgan grinned. "Nothing says _it's a Pendragon family reunion_ , dear brother, like the stench of alcohol."

*

 

The sightseeing tour that Arthur had arranged for Merlin began with white flurries on the windshield of a borrowed Ford, and Merlin pouting in the passengers seat and begging Arthur to forgo their trip to The College Football Hall of Fame Museum.

The truck slid into a salty parking space, the museum's yellow goal posts looming into view. Merlin braceleted Arthur's wrist with his icy fingers, pleading that he would do anything, anything, not to go in there. Arthur replied by turning the heater back on, tucking Merlin's promise in the back of his mind and Merlin's freezing hand into his coat pocket. Arthur warned Merlin with a toothy grin he'd make good on his promise later.

They visited the Studebaker museum instead, where Merlin snapped an album's worth of photos of horse drawn carriages, but seemed largely unimpressed by anything made after the 1900's, including the automobiles. The next stop was sipping piping hot chocolate at the South Bend Chocolate Company café, and picking up an overdressed Morgan at eight.

By then the snow had returned with a vengeance, flickering through the sky like static on a television screen. Arthur parked in the packed bar lot, the wind whooping at an inflatable Miller Light can hung above a neon sign that clearly read "dive bar", but actually read, "The Linebacker Inn".

The Bar was wallpapered in navy blue, gold, green, the university's football team colors. Four separate sports programs blared scores from four separate TV's mounted over the bar. Arthur and Morgan made their way through the crowd, Merlin sandwiched between the two siblings who clearly knew their way around this place.

"In the back," Morgan shouted, determination quickening her steps. "It looks like your friends are already here, Arthur."

A giant of a man smiled ear to ear when he saw them, waving his arm above the droves. He stood a head taller then everyone else in the room, the bar patrons parting like the Red Sea as he plowed through them.

"Hey, Morgs, and hole-e-shit, Pen-dra-gon!" the giant cried, in both surprise and joy.

The titan's hand walloped Arthur's back. The gesture would have sent a lesser man flying, but Arthur had a firm bearing and barely flinched. "Been a while, Percival," he replied, slugging Percival's huge bicep.

"What the hell you doing here, bro?"

"I'm on my winter vacation. What can I say, I missed the place."

"Bull," Percival grinned. "But it's good to see you anyway."

With Percival's helpthey cleared a path to the back of the bar, where a party was loosely gathered at a double picnic table. From what Merlin could tell, the main group consisted of the giant guy, Percival, a calm looking man with sandy curls and scraggly facial hair who introduced himself as Leon, and a few other jocks.

"Everyone," Arthur announced, "Meet Merlin, my buddy from Cali," adding with a pause and a lick of his lips. "Play nice with him, okay?"

Merlin wasn't sure what to make of things. This wasn't his usual crowd—half the guys here outweighed him twice over and looked like they pumped iron and swallowed raw eggs for breakfast. Merlin's concern disintegrated when he was bombarded with _any friend of Arthur's is a friend of mine_ , handshakes, struggling not to fall over as Percival's mallet of a hand shook his.

Morgan took her seat first, next to Leon, helping herself to his beer as if he'd been saving it for her all along.

"Hey," Leon said, with only mild perturbation. "I was going to drink that!"

Morgan smiled, a demure closed mouth smile with a touch of pout. A smile Merlin assumed Morgan had adopted long ago, when she found out that it melted the men (and probably some women, too) around her like ice cubes.

"Was it? My mistake," she said, pinching Leon's scruffy cheek. "Guess you'll have to buy yourself a another?"

Arthur filled the other chair at Leon's other side, patting him on the back like an old buddy. Leon returned the gesture.

"We're short one man, no Elyan tonight?" Arthur inquired.

Leon's face contorted. He shook his head. "Come on, Arthur, what did you expect? Gwen's his _sister_."

Arthur grimaced, then nodded, the response telling Merlin all he needed to know. That Arthur's buddies were aware of Arthur's messy break up, well, at least the cover version.

Aerthur motioned to Merlin to sit next beside him, but Merlin found himself stumbling out of the way as a new arrival claimed his place before he could. It was a woman. Her hair was wedding band platinum, face heart shaped, revealing perfect Shirley Temple dimples when she smiled. Arthur turned around just in time to receive a sloppy kiss from her on his cheek.

"Vivian?" he choked, wiping the greasy lipstick off with his palm.

"Morgan didn't tell me you were coming!" Vivian cried, with a voice high enough to shatter glass. "It's been sooooo long, Arthur!"

A grumble of disgust slipped from Merlin's mouth before he could check it. Arthur caught Merlin's eye as if to say, _don't be ridiculous_ , and brushed the girl's flirting away with good hearted laugh.

Merlin had known that Arthur was the textbook "popular kid" back home. He'd seen the yearbook photos of Arthur and Gwen together, the team pictures, but seeing Arthur the social butterfly in action was something else. Arthur was clearly in his element here, more so than he'd been back at school. A frothy beer had already been thrust into his hands, Arthur looking at it with the same longing Merlin reserved for his cigarettes.

Merlin watched Arthur shake his head, mumbling driving as he passed the beer off to Leon.

It seemed like Arthur's friends multiplied the longer he sat down, more and more people popping out of the woodwork to say hello. Arthur glowed under the spotlight shining on him. Everyone, it seemed, was inexplicably drawn to his charisma—just as Merlin had been.

_Still was._

Merlin couldn't stop scowling at the overly forward Vivian. It was bad enough that she'd usurped his seat next to Arthur, leaving him to lean against the wall, but did she have to touch Arthur all the time, did she? To press her chest against Arthur's back in a fake attempt to move herself away from the crowd.

Merlin bit the inside of his full lip. Hard. He got up and forced his way back to the bar, wishing the phrase "if looks could kill" actually worked. When Merlin asked the bartender for a ginger ale, the bartender looked at him as if he'd spoken a foreign language by ordering something non-alcoholic. All the same, he wiped his sweaty palms on his apron and produced Merlin's drink.

Merlin leaned against the counter, biding his time. Normally he would have ordered a drink for Arthur, too, but he wasn't in the mood right now to do him favors.

After a few minutes alone, someone slid beside Merlin, their sweet breath whispering into his ear. "Order something for me, will you, Merlin?" Morgan said, implementing the same smile she'd used earlier on Leon.

Merlin fished through his wallet, handing her a twenty. "Get whatever you'd like," he said, glancing back to where Arthur was seated.

Morgan's eyes glistened; she took the bill, hopped her butt up on the counter and flirted with the bartender. Her efforts were rewarded with a clear beverage and change she neatly placed back into her own purse. Whatever Morgan had ordered, it smelled potent, reminding Merlin of the paint thinner in the fine art classrooms.

"Fan of blonde's?" Morgan said, glancing back at their table. "I couldn't help but notice you staring. I could go over there and break the ice for you, if you wanted?"

"Why? I Already know him."

Morgan laughed. "Vivian, silly. Since you clearly can't stop looking over at her."

Merlin swallowed some ginger ale, realizing what an idiot he'd been. Of course Morgan had been talking about _the girl_.

"Um… girls like that… I mean…they never talk to me." Merlin said, trying to sound forlorn, and not jealous of the attention Vivian was paying Arthur.

_As if._

Morgan's eyes drifted to her fairer half brother and the woman draped over him like a flesh coat. "Probably for the best, anyway," she said, finishing her mystery drink. "Vivian's father is a beast and keeps her on the shortest leash I've ever seen. If Arthur were smart, he'd think with something other than his dick for a change."

"Poor girl," Merlin replied in mock sympathy. "Can't be easy for her."

"Still sure you don't want me to introduce you?"

"I really don't think I'm her type. And, to be honest, she's not really mine."

"Just what is your type, Merlin?"

Merlin looked into his glass for an answer. When it revealed nothing but bubbling carbonation, Merlin stared up at the TV, feigning interest in the latest scores. After a moment, he felt a gentle hand on his back that he thought was his imagination—until a thumb trailed a familiar track between his shoulder blades.

_Arthur. His savior._

Merlin could have cried with joy—that was until he noticed Vivian still stapled to Arthur's arm.

Merlin hated being jealous. Hated it. Jealously wasn't in his blood, and it wasn't how his parents had raised him to act. But seeing Vivian practically attached to Arthur…It was like watching Arthur and Gwen all over again, and it didn't help that Vivian had absolutely no fashion sense. Wearing studded Jean studded cut-offs, pink lipstick, and a crop top in the dead of winter? Who was she kidding?

Merlin understood that this wasn't the time or the place for Arthur to come out, especially when he hadn't told Uther yet. Here, in a den of country music and cheap booze, well, it seemed like a dubious place for anyone to safely voice their attraction for another man.

But this whole situation... it still _stung_.

"Mer, I've been looking for you," Arthur said, his voice rich as milk.

Merlin pushed back his glass, forcing a smile. "Hmm, that so?" he replied.

Arthur took Merlin's drink, putting his lips to the spot Merlin had drank of off earlier, and finished it off with a tilt. "I was thinking, how about a game of pool, you and me?"

 _You mean you, me, and the succubus?_ Merlin wanted to say. Instead he shrugged, following Arthur to a pool table.

The cloth top of the solitary pool table in the bar had turned mustard yellow with age. A stained glass lamp swayed above it, the rack already set and waiting to be broken.

Merlin grabbed a cue, it's varnish flaking off in leaves under grip.

"I play winner," Leon chimed, patting Merlin on the back. "Luck there, buddy, our Arthur's a shark when it comes to pool."

Arthur pried Vivian off of his sleeve; giving her to Percival like a plague he'd narrowly avoided. Percival seemed all too happy to indulge Vivian's company, instantly offering to buy her a drink.

"Do you know how to play?" Arthur asked Merlin, catching his own cue from Leon mid throw. He gripped the cue in his right hand, grabbed what was left of a blue chalk cube and slathered the tip of it with slow careful strokes.

Merlin felt his ears burn. "I've played a few—"

"I can teach you," Arthur interrupted. He looked around slowly, and then stood behind Merlin, propping the cue in Merlin's hand. "Tip number one, technique is key. Try the open bridge, hold your hand like this—"

Arthur's hipbone grazed Merlin, rubbing softly against the small of Merlin's back. Arthur pushed the heel of Merlin's hand and fingertips firmly on the pool table, pointing his thumb upwards.

"Perfect," he breathed, guiding the smooth shaft back and forth over Merlin's thumb in a pantomime.

Merlin shuddered, trying not to close his eyes. He was beyond thankful to be wearing his shapeless baggy sweater today.

"I'm sorry about Vivian," Arthur whispered, so soft Merlin almost missed it. "She's on old friend. She doesn't mean anything."

"S'alright," Merlin said, looking to see where the rest of Arthur's friends were.

Percival was with Vivian at the bar, but if her slagging posture and helpless glances at Arthur were any indication, things weren't going well for him. Morgan had joined a cluster of girls her age, Leon holding her drink and waiting patiently on the sidelines.

"I'll make you a proposition," Arthur continued, leaning in closer. "If you lose this game, when we get home as a consolation—" His voice dropped low, the ripe scent of his cologne overpowering Merlin's senses. "I'll fuck your brains out."

Merlin's heart died in his ribs. He exhaled, waiting for it to beat back to life. If Arthur didn't stop being so damn alluring, he was going to need an defibrillator.

"Don't you mean, if you win the game?" Merlin whispered back.

Arthur released Merlin's hand, sliding his fingers across Merlin's wrist.

"There's is no way you're going to win, Merlin." He smiled. "And we don't want to disappoint ourselves, do we?"

Merlin leaned against the pool table, pretending to be interested in their game instead of hiding a now raging hard on. He held his breath and took his shot. Arthur's eyes were set on him, Arthur's friends drifting back to eagerly watch the competition, because Merlin had done something good, no—better than good. He'd just sent two solid colored balls clanking into a corner pocket.

Leon whooped his praise for Merlin.

Merlin grinned, cracking his knuckles for show.

"You didn't tell me you could play!" Arthur choked.

"Because you never asked," Merlin said, using the pregnant pause to chalk his cue. "I don't drink, Arthur, I don't follow sports teams. What do you think I do when my friends drag me to bars? I may suck at most sports, but I'm good with my hands."

And now it was Arthur visibly tensing, Arthur hiding awkwardly behind the pool table as he gathered his bearings.

"If I win," Merlin replied. Making sure his jeans rode low enough to reveal a peek of boxers before he took his next shot. "And trust me Arthur, I plan on it."

*

 

 

 

 

Merlin won their pool game by the slimmest of margins, but that was enough. Someone, a lanky awkward newcomer, for that matter, had beaten the illustrious Arthur Pendragon at pool.

It was enough to make Morgan spit her drink out in shock, and enough for Vivian to give Merlin a reevaluating look. It was enough for Percival and Leon to buy Merlin two beers, which he'd drank out of forced obligation, and to dub him Merlin the (Pen)dragon slayer through their tear-stained laughter.

Arthur pretended to be furious with the loss, though inside he was beaming with pride. He slammed his fists against the pool table and called for a rematch, consoling himself with salted peanuts when that was universally denied. He used his mock outrage to end the night early, telling Vivian he wasn't in the mood to go with her to another bar.

For all Morgan's bitching earlier that morning about needing a designated driver, she decided to spend the night with a female friend of hers. At least, that was her story, and Arthur was too preoccupied to care if it was true.

Merlin had proven himself to Arthur's friends, he had won their respect. Arthur knew that this was a feat not easily achieved, especially by someone as, well, _unusual_ as Merlin. If the beers and banter were any indication, Arthur's friends genuinely _liked_ Merlin, and that thought warmed Arthur better than a good whiskey.

Arthur drove home from the bar like a bat out of hell; Merlin shouting that if he didn't _cool-the-f-down_ , they'd end up in a snowdrift. Which they almost did—Twice.

He pulled into the empty driveway, parking crooked. When they reached the front door, Arthur punched in the security code and whisked Merlin up the stairs, coat and all.

"Uther?" Merlin coughed, catching his breath.

"It's midnight. He's sleeping." Arthur replied.

They passed the guestroom; Arthur and Morgan's bedrooms, Arthur leadingMerlin through the pitch-black hall and into the last room on the second floor. The door pushed open like a breeze, lights casting angel halos above them. Arthur locked the bathroom door, crossed the room, and fussed with the dials of a walk-in shower that instantly soaked the sleeve of his coat.

Like everything in his father's house, this bathroom was ostentatious and twice as large as it needed to be. Why Uther had thought he'd needed a Jacuzzi tub, a walk-in shower, and enough room to roller skate in was beyond Arthur. Maybe the old man had a better romantic life than Arthur had given him credit for-? _Gross_.

A steady water-jet streamed from the double shower head, Arthur twisting the metal dial until he found a temperature that sent steam-clouds rolling off the marble floors like dragon's breath.

"You want to... in the bathroom?" Merlin asked, his lips cherry red from the cold, eyes uncertain.

"I thought you liked bathrooms?" Arthur smiled. "The shower should muffle most of the sound."

"The sound of—"

Arthur threw his coat on a plush white bathmat and shot Merlin a coy smile. "What did I promise you, if you won?"

Merlin fumbled with his scarf. "I, uh didn't think you were serious—"

_Oh God, was Merlin's hesitation cute._

Arthur stalked back to Merlin, pressing, untying his scarf and shedding Merlin's coat with a strong but gentle tug that pinned Merlin's arms above his head. "I didn't think you could play," he whispered, kissing Merlin gently.

Parting Merlin's mouth with a determined slip of his tongue, Arthur added. "I love it when you surprise me, Merlin."

Merlin nipped Arthur's bottom lip, using his thigh to push Arthur away. Merlin's eyes were half slits, his cheeks flushed from drinking. The alcohol gave Merlin's voice a gravely edge that sent shivers down Arthur's spine.

"Wouldn't you rather have Vivian?" Merlin said accusingly.

Arthur slipped his thigh gently between Merlin's legs, keeping Merlin's arms prisoner above his head. He kissed Merlin harder, deeper, until their kisses became wet and bruising and _slick._ "Don't be an idiot, Merlin."

Merlin trembled, sliding down the wall as Arthur peeled away Merlin's hoodie, his shirts, and his pants, letting Merlin kick off his own boxers and socks until till he stood naked and shivering. Arthur made short work of his own clothes, catching Merlin up in his arms and bringing him to the shower before they both turned into to icicles.

The water pulsed heat into their bodies, flushing their skin and soaking their wind nipped faces. It plastered Merlin's unruly hair to his forehead, too, Arthur watching the droplets dribble down Merlin's long lashes. He chuckled at the spectacle, tasting the water running down Merlin's chin.

They held each other close, sliding and rutting, and rubbing to find the position that fit them together like perfect puzzle pieces. Arthur pulled a tube of body wash from the side of the shower, working a lather in his palms. He slicked Merlin first with a few slow strokes, Merlin's ass clenching in Arthur's other hand in reaction to the touch. Arthur loved the feeling of Merlin's taught balls against his fingertips, the exquisite part of Merlin's lips and the deep needy noises he made as Arthur spoiled him.

Arthur worked slowly; binding them together with long purposeful strokes until he couldn't help the groaning escaped his own mouth. Arthur's cock pulsed in his own grip, every fragile kiss from Merlin's wet lips sending him reeling. He pulled back, nuzzling his face into a pool of water collecting on Merlin's shoulder. He squeezed the base of his shaft, breathing away the danger as Merlin continued slowly on himself.

Merlin only got in a few strokes over Arthur before a glittering bead of pre-cum seeped from his slit, causing him to clench his teeth and pause.

Arthur washed the lather from himself, turned Merlin around, and massaged Merlin's lower back, drifting down to work Merlin's entrance open with water soaked fingers. Merlin's body relaxed under Arthur's touch, as is had so many times before. He leaned his thin arms against the shower wall, which shielded his scissor tattoo from Arthur's sight. Arching his back, Merlin let the warm water lubricate them both in a steady, vibrating stream.

With a few tentative touches, then a gasp, Arthur entered Merlin. He was terrified to move—lest the tight ring of Merlin's warmth around his cock push him over the edge before they'd begun. He steadied himself, trailing kisses down Merlin's spine and moving with a slow, calculated rhythm. Arthur found his pace easily, the hard smacking of their bodies sounding steady as a drum beat, the most beautiful music Arthur had ever heard.

He quickened his thrusts, feeling his ache grow into a deep, primal desire for release. That desire became an absolute need when Merlin whispered a strangled _harder, Arthur, harder, yes!_ Against the shower wall. Arthur clutched Merlin's waist to the point of bruising, knowing that he couldn't hold out much longer—

He gasped as much into Merlin's ear, warning him to slow. He was close—too close-

Merlin rolled his hips under Arthur's thumbs in answer, causing Arthur to thrust harder and deeper. Merlin tightened all around Arthur, grasping his own slippery cock with a cry as he came beautifully undone into his hand. Arthur savored his final thrust, his orgasm a hot, throbbing, spell that wet his eyes and tore his voice as he called out Merlin's name.

They stood pressed together for some time, unable, or unwilling, to part. Water pelted them as they whispered romantic nonsense to one another, and when they finally separated, sliding to sitting positions on the shower floor, the water was still going strong.

Arthur turned to Merlin, whose arms were drawn against his chest; his head leaning back on frosted glass with an expression of pure bliss. Merlin looked positively ethereal on a bad day, but even more so after sex. His cutting cheekbones were pinked, the lean lines of his body as exquisite as the male models in his Parisian fashion magazines.

Merlin was too perfect to be of this world; and too humble to have any clue of ot.

Arthur pushed open the shower door to give them some air, and then pulled Merlin's head onto his chest, ignoring his sudden thirst.

"Uther had to have heard that," Merlin sighed, nuzzling into Arthur.

"No one heard, love" Arthur chuckled, stroking Merlin's cheek all the while thinking that no else in the world could drive him _this_ mad. That there was no one else, who could challenge him, inspire him, frustrate and tease him like Merlin did. No one who could make Arthur's soul and his body so completely satisfied. So _full_.

Arthur would tell his father everything, and damn the consequence. He would tell him tomorrow after dinner.

And then, they would finally be free.

 

*

Barren trees frosted in white signaled Athur's drive onto campus. The University of Notre Dame was breathtaking in winter. The main building, the Golden Dome, a sandy-bricked Gothic with a golden roof, was glowing like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary sky.

Arthur took Merlin everywhere in the college, the library, the art museum, even the football stadium, which left Merlin completely unimpressed.

"How many times do I have to say it, I'm not into sports!" Merlin groaned.

"Then it's never going to work between us," Arthur teased, posing Merlinfor a couple selfies next to a bronze of coach Knute Rockne.

They had zero pictures of them together, a fact Arthur was going to remedy on this trip.

"Doesn't matter what sport," Merlin amended. "I hate all of them equally, does make you feel any better?"

"Sacrilege," Arthur said, releasing Merlin and digging through his bag of newly purchased college logo apparel. To flaunt his devotion further, Athur ripped the tag off of a knitted ND hat, placing it tightly over Merlin's head.

"Keep those ears warm." He warned.

One attraction they both enjoyed was the Basilica of the Sacred Heart (a Neo-Gothic catholic church modeled after the churches of Europe, and the spiritual center of the school). Color leapt through its impressive stained glass diptychs, jeweled blues, yellows, and reds as bright as cardinal plumes hitting the marble.

The air in the Basilica was ripe with age. Casual worshipers were bent in prayer at the pews, still as the stained glass saints above them. Arthur walked soft footed between the ivory pillars, pillars so tall that they seemed to grow towards the heavens, their tops blossoming into beautifully carved gold reliefs just before touching the sky.

Arthur had been baptized in this building, he had been to more Sunday masses here than he could count. There had even been a time in Arthur's life when he'd imagined becoming a Notre Dame grad himself and getting married in the Basilica, as his father had before him, standing at the altar as he slipped a diamond band onto the hand of the woman who would be his wife.

In Arthur's early years, she had been the faceless archetype of a female. By late high school, she had been Gwen, soft skinned, smiling, a forever companion, a friend. But now…

As a Catholic, Arthur knew he'd never be allowed to have with Merlin in this church what he'd once imagined having with a woman. But they could have something, couldn't they? Whatever that something was, whatever their relationship blossomed into years down the road, a lasting partnership, a marriage, or heaven forbid, a lesson in heartache, Arthur knew that he would never regret the choice he was about to make.

He looked behind to Merlin, who was lost in hypnotic concentration by the murals.

"The artist who oversaw those murals was a painter from the Vatican," Arthur said with a note of authority.

"That explains a lot," Merlin replied, straining his neck for a better view of the fresco Angels.

"Are you religious, Merlin?" Arthur asked, realizing this was one of many things he still didn't know about his boyfriend.

Merlin considered the question, letting his heels fall back to the ground. "Mom and Giaus are what I'd call, _connoisseurs of spirituality_. When I was younger, they took me to visit churches, temples, shrines, sweat lodges, synagogues, you name it. I wouldn't say I'm religious; spiritual might be a better word. I don't prescribe to any religion in particular, but I see all religion as purposeful. I mean, how can you not be moved when you step into a space like this?"

Arthur placed a gloved hand on Merlin's back. "I have one more thing to show you," he smiled. "I think you'll like this next place it's…earthy. More your tastes."

"Earthy? Should I be offended by that?" Merlin chuckled.

A short walk from the basilica was a hill of stone cloaked in white powder. It was a curved hallowed hole, not quiet a cave, with a statue of the Virgin Mary hidden between the mossy rocks. Hundreds of candles danced in the shadowed entrance, like fireflies trapped there by winter. No matter how the wind raged behind them, nipping and teasing, the flames in the candles held.

"This is The Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes." Arthur said with a cold breath. He walked inside the stone alcove, took a candle from a box, and lit the wick, placing it carefully in line with the others. He offered one to Merlin, watching Merlin nimbly light the small glass container.

Merlin stared into the flame intently, for what seemed like hours, until Arthur tugged at his sleeve, taking him to row of padded benches just outside the grotto's gates.

"Put your knees up like this," Arthur instructed, guiding Merlin into place "And your hands just so—"

"What for?" Merlin whispered in a reverent voice.

"Praying to the Virgin Mary. You may not believe in it, but I'd appreciate if you'd humor me. I can use all the help I can get today."

Merlin agreed without question, closing his eyes as Arthur settled in next to him.

Arthur breathed in the damp, letting his anxiety go in a jerky exhale. Last night, after hugging Merlin a sad goodbye and returning alone to his room, Arthur had had a dream, a nightmare, actually. Fire had erupted from the ground, engulfing him as he entered a nameless church, but only now did Arthur see how ridiculous his dream was.

There was no damnation here, only quiet—peace; the silent companionship of nature that would exist long after they'd left this place, and this earth. Whatever judgment Arthur was about to face, it would come from peoples minds, from his father, but never from God.

Arthur opened his eyes; feeling like the weight of the world had already lifted from his shoulders. "Come on, Merlin," he sighed, stretching the cold from his joints. "Lets go back. It's almost dinnertime."

*

 

Dinner was a feast; mashed potatoes, gravy served in a deep boat, a pot-roast fresh from the oven, their scent's making Arthur salivate, and Merlin look like he'd seen the ghost of slaughterhouses past.

The whole Pendragon family was present at the table tonight. Uther was the stoic master of ceremonies, initiating the grace and then hacking the roast into sizable slabs. He cut a lean piece of meat for Morgan, a double helping for Arthur, and a slab for Merlin so rare it sweat blood. When no one was looking, Arthur speared Merlin's roast onto his own plate, Merlin giving him a grateful nod in return.

"Good news, Arthur," Uther said, wiping his hands on a napkin before diving into his meal. "I found you an internship."

Arthur licked his lips, pooling gravy into a trench he'd dug in his potatoes. "I don't know what to say—"

"Thank you, for a start. It's with Whirlpool, a buddy of mine is friendly with their HR. You take your phone interview next week. Their internships run during summer vacation, and the office is in Benton Harbor, that's only an hour commute from here."

"Whirlpool is a great company…" Arthur said in a dead voice.

"The largest home appliance maker in the world," Uther added.

Arthur knew this was true. The company had tremendous sway in this area, it was a big name. However, there was no way Arthur wanted to spend an entire summer living with his father again, away from Merlin, and from the new life he wanted to build for himself in California.

"I'll certainly consider it," Arthur replied. "And I'll do some additional research on what else is open in the tech industry. The Bay Area is full of tech companies, I hear Apple has a phenomenal early recruitment program."

"You'll _consider_ it?"

"I'm grateful, dad, I am. I was just hoping for something closer to school..."

"Closer to school? Christ," Uther snorted. "What's this about? That girlfriend of yours?"

"He isn't going out with Gwen anymore," Morgan said, twirling her hair around her finger. "They broke up last month."

Merlin went rigid his seat, looking like he was going to be sick, and not from the smell of the beef.

"That so?" Uther said, sopping his meatloaf into the drippings on his plate. "Tom's never mentioned it."

"We didn't' work out." Arthur said flatly.

"Only because you can't keep it in your pants," Morgan said, bludgeoning the remnants of her mashed potatoes with her fork.

Uther barked a low pitched. "Morgan!"

"It's true, Daddy, and you should have seen Arthur schmoozing with Vivian last night."

Uther perked up. "Vivian? Olaf's Vivian?"

Arthur's guts churned. Olaf was an old family friend, with a temper to rival Uther's, and a shotgun hung proudly above his front door. Arthur did not like thinking about Olaf if he could help it, especially when his daughter was concerned.

"I didn't do anything with Vivian!" He blushed. "Do you think I'm insane?"

"Maybe not," Morgan continued, gauging Arthur's reaction. "But you cheated on Gwen, and that's why she dumped you like a ton of bricks. If you're going to tell the breakup story, Arthur, tell it right."

Uther regarded his son, a smile creasing the deep ridges of his mouth. "I take it the west-coast women agree with you?" he said with a sharp laugh. "Morgan, your brother is too young to be chained to one woman, and quite frankly, I always thought he could do better than Gwen. Now clear the plates, will you? Boys, in the living room. The game's on in five."

Arthur stared at his empty plate, his stepsister glowering is defeat as she cleared the dishes. Uther made his way into the living room, Morgan to the kitchen.

Arthur tapped Merlin's elbow once the room was empty. "Merlin, can you manage putting our suitcases in the car?" He asked.

Merlin's mouth flattened in a thoughtful line. "But we don't leave until tomorrow night."

"I know," Arthur whispered. "But we need to be prepared, if you catch my drift. Load the bags in the car. Grab your coat. I need a moment alone with... with my father."

Merlin shook his head; as if he couldn't stomach what he was hearing. "Now?"

Arthur nodded, his certainty unwavering.

"And you're sure you don't need me to—"

"What I need," Arthur said, handing Merlin the car keys from his pocket. "Is for you to load up the truck. I'll call you back into the house when I'm done, or I'll join you in the car. I won't know which until...well..."

Merlin squeezed Arthur's hand, the keys indenting his skin. "I'll take care of it, if that's what you want," he said, sounding a touch disappointed. "But if you're not out of the house in twenty minutes, I'm coming back in for you, and I don't want to hear any shit about it. Is that clear?"

"You won't." Arthur said, the words dry on the roof of his mouth. He tried to put to memory every one of Merlin's features. The ghostly shade of Merlin's skin, the pinch of his lips, and the stubborn resolve behind his eyes. "I'll be back in twenty, promise."

*

Arthur Uther relaxing on a sectional couch, one of three gaudy pieces of upholstery in their living room. They had a den better equipped for watching television in, but in wintertime the basement's concrete walls leached in the cold, making the room expensive, if not impossible to heat. Uther had thrown money at contractors to fix the problem, but to no avail, so between December and March this was the space the family entertained in. The space where a person could find Uther between the hours of 7pm and 9pm, if he wasn't buried by papers in his office.

Uther's feet were propped up on a glass coffee table, a 50-inch television streaming canned sitcoms as he waited impatiently for his program to start. Everything about the house unsettled Arthur tonight; the cream walls, the chandelier with its catch of dead insects, and the fond look in Uther's eyes as he patted the couch for Arthur to join him, just like old times.

Arthur inched closer, but he could hardly breathe. The stale air prickled his throat, the temperature in the room causing sweat to dampen Arthur's armpits and make him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was.

"Dad," Arthur sputtered, taking great lengths to stand up straight. "There's something I need to tell you."

"The game's starting," Uther replied, the glare of the TV shadowing his face.

"It's important."

"Whats more important than the game? You knock someone up?" He grunted, handing Arthur a cold beer from a mini fridge at the side of the couch.

Arthur rolled the can in his hands. He wanted nothing more than to drink it for courage, but he left the beer untouched, placing it on the coffee table.

"I didn't get anyone pregnant," he whispered.

Uther knit his eyebrows together, upping the television volume. "Then can't this wait until the game is over?"

Arthur's heart thumped his chest, so swift and painful, he was afraid he'd drop dead from a heart attack before he ever spoke.

"Dad," Arthur said again, looking his father straight in the eyes so there could be no misinterpretation. "I'm gay."

Uther's jaw tensed, Arthur swearing he'd heard a tooth crack.

He paused. Waiting for Uther to say something, anything to break the smothering silence that had fallen between them.

" _No_." Uther said with an authoritative snap.

"I-"

"No, you're not." He said again, as if the matter was closed, and if Arthur would _just shut his fucking trap_ , Uther would be generous enough to forget the conversation had ever happened.

Arthur looked through an open slit in the curtains for reassurance. He spotted Merlin ankle deep in the snow, loading their luggage into the car. He swallowed, steeled his face and said calmly, "This isn't debatable."

The TV remote tightened in Uther's grip.

"I wanted to tell you before I left. Merlin and I…we—we'll be moving in together soon and I thought you had the right to know."

"No, you most certainly will _NOT_!" Uther roared. "How dare you come into my house and feed this, this bullshit! Are you telling me I let a faggot sleep in my house?"

"I-"

"I knew," Uther cursed. "I knew I never should have let you go to that fucking lib school! Just look what it's done to—"

"This has nothing to do with school," Arthur interrupted, his fear threatening to drown him. He dammed it up, stood firm and said, "It's the way things are, the way I am. Before school, Dad, before I could put it into words, I've—"

Uther lumbered up from his seat. He looked at his son with revulsion, like Arthur had just confessed a grizzly murder to him. Part of Arthur understood that in Uther's mind, that was exactly what Arthur had done. With this admission, he'd rejected the "perfect life" Uther had painstakingly and underhandedly crafted for him. The truth may have crushed Uther's outdated dreams, but how could Arthur destroy a person who had never really existed in the first place? Who was always a strained illusion of himself at best?

Was it prejudice that had his father so riled? Or was it because for the first time in his adult life, Arthur had dared to defy him?

"You'll burn for this!" Uther roared.

"For what?" Arthur scoffed back, his shoulders straightening. "Loving another human being? Do you honestly think God cares what parts Merlin and I have?"

"He knows sodomy when he sees it, the stain of sin."

"I'm not afraid of hell, and I'm not ashamed of how I feel. We're moving in together, there's nothing more to it," Arthur reached to touch his father's shoulder. To remind him that despite all of this, he was still Arthur, still human. "I swear to you, dad, this doesn't change anything. I'm still the same person; I'm still your son-"

Uther slapped Arthur's hand away, his expression as vicious as his dragon surname. The veins in Uther's neck were thick as garden hoses now, pulsing in time with his fury. "You are no son of mine."

"I'm not expecting you to agree, or to pay for my school tution anymore, but if you could just try to listen, to understand how hard this is—"

Uther kicked the coffee table, tipping it over, drinks and all. "There is nothing to understand!"

"God damn it, Dad, I've tried to be what you've wanted!" Arthur shouted, probably loud enough for the neighborhood to hear. "I've pushed myself at school, at sports, I've dated women, I've hid, and I've hurt people all to make you proud of me but you _NEVER_ are and I-"

He took a strangled breath. "Nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it? Do you know how much that kills me? How terrified Morgan and I are of you, our own father? For once in your life, will you think about someone's happiness other than your fucking own—"

There was a sickening crunch, like a branch breaking underfoot. Arthur could taste a metallic flavor coating his tongue. He clutched his face, huffing blood through his fingers.

"Leviticus 20:13," Uther roared, twisting Arthur's bloody shirt into a knot. He pinned Arthur back against the couch, the weight of his arms crushing into Arthur's ribs. "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them!"

Arthur's mind raced, the pain in his chest hardly registering over the blood choking down his throat. Uther's eyes blazed, his hairy fist prepping for a second strike.

Morgan barreled into the room.

"There will be no more blood spilled in this house!" she shrieked, her limbs trembling as she held a phone, punching in a short series of numbers. "If you don't let Arthur go now, Dad, I'll press this 1 and send the cops here! I'll...I'll make sure they throw you in jail for assault and have put your face on the front of The Tribune tomorrow! Is that what you want?"

Arthur felt his father's grip on him slip.

Uther tossed Arthur aside like a piece of trash, Arthur scrambling off of the couch to stand upright.

"Get the fuck out of my house, boy," he said, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his pants as casually as a person washing up after a meal. "And don't you come back."


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Beta, and I own nothing. :)

Merlin turned the heater to full blast, wondering how long it took for frostbite to set in.

The car warmed as he unlaced his canvas sneakers; soaked from the ten minutes he'd spent outside removing frost from the windshield with a school ID. Arthur had told him credit cards and ID's worked well as scrapers in a pinch, but the crystals had taken all of Merlin's muscle power to remove, not to mention warping his ID.

It made Merlin wonder how people managed the chore every day, and how he was going to explain to school security what had happened to his ID picture.

Pressing a socked foot against the heater grate he wiggled his toes one by one. They stung, but he could still feel them (an encouraging sign).

He butted his forehead against the window until hit ached, hoping to see more than the color white and the occasional headlight coasting down the lonely road. It wasn't fair being banished to car, but Merlin hand made a promise to Arthur, and even if it were a stupid promise, he'd honor it.

But that didn't stop him from chewing his nails to nubs and fretting like a mother hen.

Why was Arthur taking so long? What was he saying?

When the front door opened Merlin's shoulders slumped with relief.

Arthur was leaving the house, pressing a glove to his face as Morgan slammed the door behind them. She kicked the drainpipe farewell, dislodging icicles from the gutter that fell like transparent spears at their feet.

"Let's get the hell out of here." Merlin heard her say.

"And where do you think you're going?" Arthur said, his voice sounding strained and ridiculously nasal. "Did I ask for your help?"

"Is that supposed to be a thank you?" Morgana shouted.

"Thank you for what? You seemed perfectly happy setting me up at dinner to look like a douche in front of dad-"

"I didn't set you up to look like a douche, you are one! But that doesn't mean I'm going to sit by and watch you get murdered, Arthur!"

Murdered? Just what was Morgan going on about?

It was then Arthur moved his hand. It was only for a moment, but long enough for Merlin to spot the bloody trail running from Arthur's nose to his lip.

He jumped from passengers seat, tripping knee first into the snow with a thump. Stumbling up, Merlin slapped the damp from his jeans and broke into a run, forgetting that he was only in wool socks. When he reached Arthur his words were frantic, bordering incomprehensible.

"What…happened?" Merlin gasped.

"Got hit," Arthur answered, spitting a gob of blood into the snow.

Merlin swallowed, saying the first thought that came to mind. "Uther?"

It was Morgan who nodded confirmation at Merlin.

Arthur was bleeding. He was hurt, and the man who had caused this pain was the same man half responsible for bringing Arthur into this world. Merlin turned to the house, realizing that the heavy curtains hid more from the outside world then he'd ever imagined. For the first time in his adult life Merlin understood that monsters were real, and what was most terrifying, they looked just like us.

Was this why Arthur had been keen on keeping their relationship secret all those months?

"This isn't the first time he's done something like this it? That he's hit you?" Merlin asked, his hands shaking. "Is that why you didn't want me to come with you? Why you asked me to load the car?"

Arthur avoided Merlin's probing eyes. "It's over," he whispered, breathing heavily through his mouth. "Let it go."

 _Let it go?_ Merlin scoffed.

He was going to confront Uther Pendragon.

He was going to kill him.

Morgan read the intent on Merlin's face, her nails digging like fangs into Merlin's bicep as she held him back. "Don't be an idiot," she said, irritation hardening her features. "You wouldn't stand a chance."

Logic told Merlin she was right, yet his fists clenched war-ready at his sides. He'd never felt so fucking useless. Useless because he wasn't inside to defend Arthur from his father's fury, and double useless because he lacked the skills to repair Arthur after it.

"We have to call the cops." Merlin said.

"I tried," Morgan replied, rolling her eyes at her brother. "He won't have it."

Arthur stood with his back squared, growling as he repositioned the glove over his nose. "I'm not prosecuting my own father!"

"He decked you!" Merlin said.

"I pushed him too far, and he felt cornered. That was my mistake."

"Cornered?" Morgan interrupted, her voice rising hysterically. "Why do you swallow that man's bullshit like it's fucking chocolate cake? For god's sake, Arthur, dad disowned you and you're still defending him! What else do you think he'd have done if I wasn't there to stop him?"

Arthur looked like a lost child, the middle of his forehead wrinkling. He tried to speak but instead of words came a strangled noise that cut Merlin's heart in two.

Merlin cocooned him. Pulling Arthur's body protectively against his own, Merlin wished that he was telepathic, that he could merge his thoughts with Arthur's and make him understand.

He pecked tentatively at Arthur's lips, not caring that they were tinged with the copper flavor of his blood.

"Look at me, Arthur. There is nothing wrong with you," Merlin said, bringing their mouths flush and feeding his boyfriend the words he needed to hear with a gentle patience. "When I look at you I see everything right in this world. Everything beautiful. If your father can't see that in you, he doesn't deserve you in his life."

Once he felt Arthur's breathing relax Merlin removed the scarf from his neck, dabbing at the crusted blood. Arthur's jaw clenched tight as a bear trap, his eyes flinching under the gentlest of Merlin's touches.

He was too proud to say it, and Merlin would never ask, but his reaction told Merlin everything he needed. Before Merlin could address Arthur's psychological pain, he'd have to tackle the physical.

"We have to get you to a hospital. You're nose feels fractured, possibly broken."

"Explains the headache." Arthur deadpanned.

"There's a 24 hour urgent care clinic on Grape road and interstate 24. It's not far, five minutes tops." Morgan said.

Merlin held Arthur's hand, opening the driver side door and hauling his bulk into passengers seat. "Morgan, can you search the suitcases for something clean Arthur can change into?"

Tilting into the headrest, Arthur threw Merlin an incredulous look. "Why are you in the driver seat, Merlin?"

"What's it look like, I'm driving."

"You don't have a license. And it's snowing…."

"I had a learners permit before I totaled my moms car. I hear driving is like riding a bicycle."

"You on a bicycle?" Arthur rasped, grabbing the clean shirt Morgan chucked at him from the back. "Sounds more terrifying then you behind the wheel."

Merlin was pleased to see Arthur's sense of humor hadn't bled out yet. He white knuckled the steering wheel, adjusted the rear view mirror for show and said, "Um…something's wrong with the engine?"

"For starters it isn't on, and you're in park." Morgan snorted, buckling her seat belt and making a Hail Mary for good measure.

Merlin chewed his lower lip and choked the engine to life. He pulled back the parking break, gave the truck a little gas and sent it sailing it backward with a thick crash.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, the impact thumping his forehead into the seat.

Merlin took his foot off the gas and peered out the back window. He'd murdered a mailbox, splintered the wood base-beam to pieces and scattered the mail all over the brown snowy slush. Somehow Merlin doubted that the bumper of the Ford had fared any better then the beam it had hit.

Morgan crawled out from in-between the armrests. "For fuck's sake let me drive!"

Merlin pulled the keys out of the ignition, tossing them to Morgan without a fight. "I hope Uther likes my farewell present," he smirked.

The car filled with palpable silence as Morgan claimed the Driver seat, Merlin scuffling sideways into to the back.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?" Arthur asked, amusement twinkling behind the glossy pain in his eyes.

Merlin quirked his eyebrows in feigned innocence. "Me? Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Real mature Merlin," Arthur said with a dry chuckle. "Real fucking mature."

* * *

 

The magazines in the urgent care clinic were stacked like cubed instillation art, making Merlin wonder if he should disturb them. Merlin had never met anyone who read Better Homes and Gardens, but he imagined they were females over the age of fifty who planted bulbs in the spring.

Morgan picked up one of said magazines, fixing it in her hand like a theater prop. Her pupils were unfocused; head snapping up like a meerkat every time the nurse at the desk called a new number.

Together they watched a mother in a plaid coat cross the reception, guiding her young son through a heavy set of steel doors. They were the same doors Arthur had passed through only a half hour before.

Merlin wasn't nervous of hospitals and clinics, the way Morgan appeared to be. Growing up with a retired physician stepfather inoculated him against that phobia. However, sitting in the sterile waiting room with its tacky plastic chairs and Thomas Kinkade art wasn't how he'd anticipated this vacation ending.

He'd have to point out the Kinkades to Arthur later, particularly the one of a man fly-fishing in a sun dappled forest. He'd always loved the way Arthur grimaced at the mention of Kinkades name, saying things like, _Kinkade is to painting what McDonald's_ _is to hamburgers_ , then expelling a snort when Merlin branded him a hypocrite for eating Big Mac's.

The room was empty now; save for Merlin, Morgana, and the reception nurse watching muted MSNBC. She was the same nurse who'd given the trio a nasty look as Arthur filled out his admission papers, his nose dripping blood onto the counter as he muttered excuses about walking into a door.

Morgana looked up over her unopened magazine, checking to see if the gloomy nurse was watching them.

"Merlin, I've been thinking," she said.

"I hear that's terrible for you." Merlin replied reflexively.

"You're the _other woman_ , aren't you? The person Arthur was sleeping with behind Gwen's back?"

Merlin looked down at his soggy sneakers, his mind flashing to the dining table at the Oakland apartment. To Arthur, and the terse conversation that christened their first meal together.

The memory made his chest ache.

"You and Arthur really are related," he said under his breath. "You both have zero tact."

"I told Gwen I'd scalp the bitch who did that to her. Would have been much more satisfying if you'd been a girl."

"Would it help if I put on a wig?" Merlin replied sarcastically.

Laughter rolled from Morgan's lips, and she hid it her sleeve. "I'd like to see that. But giving the circumstances, payback is off." She paused, rolling the magazine in her hands. "You must mean a lot to Arthur. I've never seen him contradict dad before."

"And look what he has to show for it."

"Arthur's taken worse bruising horsing around with his friends, he'll live. I still can't believe he's Gay, though. I mean, I never saw the signs. It's not like he wore pride t-shirts!"

"This isn't a joke, Morgana," Merlin responded crisply. "He needs your support, now more then ever. You're the only family he has left."

Morgan rested her hand on Merlin's knee, patting it gently. It was a disarming show of compassion, one that left Merlin confused and on the verge of tears.

"He has it, Merlin. We have our differences, but he's my brother. I'll be there for him."

There must have been a time before the rivalry and petty jabs, when Morgan and Arthur actually loved each other, playing games together and laughing in the innocent way of children. Merlin had heard snippets of sibling affection during their teasing, glimpsed it their body language, and that gave him hope.

Perhaps Morgan saw that hope in Merlin's eyes, because without missing a beat she lowered her voice and asked, "So, how's Arthur in bed? Gwen would never squeal, but I have the impression he's a two minute show at best."

The double doors thumped open. "Don't you dare answer that, Merlin!"

Arthur looked tired, and little swollen, but his sharp eyes and petulant voice were pure Pendragon.

Merlin rubbed at his aching temple. Leave it to Morgan to not only spoil a sentimental a moment, but beat it death.

He stood up and asked, "Is it broken?"

"Yes, but not badly," Arthur replied, rubbing a white splint taped to his nose. "Doc says it won't require anything but time to heal, and he was nice enough to prescribe me painkillers that can take down a horse." He sat in the plastic seat next to Merlin, wrapping his arm across the back like a teenager at a movie date. "I'll make a few calls, find us a place to stay the night. We can check with the airlines in the morning to catch an earlier flight home."

"Why not stay at my mom's?" Morgan offered. "I'll be hiding there until dad cools off."

Arthur blinked his lips thinning. "I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's not an imposition, she won't mind."

Morgan put her hand on Arthur's back, wrestling him into a bear hug (an impressive feat for a woman her size). Arthur's wiggling arms and feral eyes reminded Merlin of how cat's look when snuggled against their will.

"She's touching me!" Arthur choked.

"Indeed." Merlin said.

"What the hell did you do to her?" He asked, looking at his sister like she'd been demonically possessed. "Drug her while I was away? Slip her the Prozac?"

Morgan slapped Arthur lightly on the cheek. "I'm trying to be supportive you little fuck. You could have told me earlier that you're gay!"

Arthur's expression changed from confusion, to embarrassment. Merlin knew the look well. It was one he'd felt on his own face a dozen times since high school, when he couldn't tell if people were sincere when asking about his sexual orientation, or setting him up as the punch-line of their jokes.

"Right," Arthur said. "Because that would have gone _swimmingly_."

"Arthur, I'm not dad!" Morgan shouted. "This isn't the Middle Ages! Do you see me prancing around in jewels saving myself till marriage? And you think I haven't messed around with a girl before?"

Merlin raised his left eyebrow higher than Gaius's.

"What, I made out with Viv a few times," she shrugged; enjoying the shocked look the nurse gave them from across the room. She snapped her fingers, as if reminding herself. "Oh, and once when I was drunk with Gwen, before you two started dating. To think all these years, Arthur, you and I could have been scoping guys together!"

"Would've sucked for you, I'd have stolen the hot ones." Arthur said with a tentative smile.

"Doubt it, but your boyfriend is awfully cute, and I can tell he really cares about you."

Merlin shifted, squeaking his sneakers on the floor. He didn't feel cute, not in comparison to Greek godliness of Arthur. Still, Merlin felt a smile touch his own lips as Arthur clasped his hands over Merlin's and said softly, "I know".

Arthur' hands were cool and rough, without the scrapped knuckles Merlin expected of a man who'd gotten into a fight. Despite what his father had done to him, it appeared Arthur hadn't retaliated.

Merlin cursed the man for being so damn noble.

"Morgan, about what happened at the house…I just wanted to-"

"Don't." Morgan said to Arthur with a dismissive wave.

Arthur patted her shoulder, hard, like he did with his jock buddies. "If you ever need a vacation away from dad, Merlin and I will have a couch in California with your name on it. I wouldn't play tour guide, go out of my way for you or anything-"

"You're shit at apologies, Arthur."

"I've been shit at a lot of things lately, but you're still welcome to visit us."

"Careful with the offer big brother," Morgan smiled, tussling Arthur's golden hair until it stood up in a rat's nest. "I might actually take you up on it."

* * *

 

The Christmas holiday came and went in a blink of brown-paper wrapping and homemade apple cider. Arthur had found himself, once again, in the familiar comfort of the Fairfax house, waking up every morning to a groggy boyfriend hogging all of their blankets.

The Emrys family celebrated the season in a quaint fashion. Instead of the traditional indoor Christmas tree, Merlin's family opted for a living one in the front yard. Arthur had steadied the six-foot ladder, helping Merlin and Hunith decorate the chosen fir with popcorn garlands and peanut butter smeared pine cones. The ritual was archaic, but he'd enjoyed the results, taking coffee at the round table with Merlin and his parents as they watched the jays nibble the winter treats.

Hunith had made a habit of re-filling Arthur's plate without asking if he wanted seconds; Giaus monitoring the healing of his broken nose. Merlin's family had claimed Arthur, without his realizing it, and what was even stranger was that Arthur was growing to need them back.

He didn't expect contact from his 'real' family at Christmas, even though he'd parted with Morgan on a good note (thanking her and her mother profusely for their hospitality). And Uther, well, talking to him again was out of the question.

When a holiday envelope came in the Emrys mail addressed to _Mr. Arthur Pendragon_ , Arthur was more than a little surprised. He tore it open, revealing a card with a buff Santa Claus in a thong and a long message from Morgan, gushing about how she would visit him over spring break.

"Jesus." Arthur had exclaimed, his nose wrinkling at the tasteless card.

"Santa, actually," Merlin had replied, swiping the card from his hands. "And I think it's hilarious!"

He'd stuck the card on the fridge with a magnet, both of them laughing at the appalled face Gaius made when he passed the picture for the first time. But the most surprising Christmas gift for both Merlin and Arthur came in the signing of a lease, a one-year contact they'd secured on a dilapidated Edwardian on 23 Avalon street, a jaunt away from the Castro's most colorful restaurants and shops.

It was only a one bedroom apartment, the bathroom a fetid salmon color, the toilet spaced so close to the tub that you could pee into it while showering. The place was peeling paint, missing cabinets, and had a spider living under the sink that Merlin swore was a flesh eating brown recluse. But the place was all theirs, defects and all, and so it was perfect.

They picked up the keys on New Years day, taking a detour to The Moby Dick bar to celebrate with a drink. There was nothing particularly amazing about the gay bar, besides the fact that it was within walking distance of their new place. It had the visual and audio stimulants Merlin required as a non-drinker, esoteric art on the walls, indie-electronica music, and a salt-water fish tank. For Arthur, it offered the cheap drinks he enjoyed (frozen margarita's), and an upstairs pool table that he was itching to bend Merlin over on.

Together they sat at a booth, legs hopelessly entangled, jeans squeaking against the leather upholstery each time one of them shifted to reach his drink. Merlin was sipping a Shirley Temple, Arthur surveying his mouth, enamored by the way Merlin's plump lips fellated his straw. Eventually Arthur's focus shifted to two good looking men making out in the corner over shots of Patron. The lager man was playing the smaller like a pianist, eliciting a series of obscene groans from his partner.

They were both clearly cherishing the attention, their noises increasing as patron's eyes veered helplessly towards them.

"Shameless." Arthur said, tucking his budding erection under the elastic of his boxers.

Merlin popped the red maraschino cherry from his drink into his mouth, chewing languidly. "Utterly," he replied. "Apartment?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Arthur said, voice softening to a whisper.

Arthur lay flat backed, sliding his feet into the plush carpet where Merlin was drowsing bedside him. He rubbed his thumb over Merlin's bottom lip, shivering as his boyfriend captured it knuckle-deep in a kiss.

Only moments ago he'd watched his cock sliding in and out of that flawless mouth, felt his fingers tangled in thick black hair, Merlin kneeling before him as one would a throne. Merlin had worshiped Arthur's cock with a wet sloshing of his tongue until Arthur's knees buckled, Arthur fearing Merlin's mouth wouldn't be enough to contain his climax. Merlin, the bastard, had only taken him deeper, Arthur swearing his orgasm for all their new neighbors to hear.

A man could get used to that kind of special treatment.

"Smells like fresh paint in here." Arthur said, sighing as Merlin released his digit.

A grin wrinkled the corner of Merlin's eyes, dimpling his cheeks. "I think it smells like steamed carpets, and cleaner, and spices from all the delicious meals I'm going to cook you."

"And fantastic apartment sex?"

"No more of that until we get a proper bed. My knees can't take the carpet burn." Merlin rolled himself up, stretched the sleep from his limbs and trudged to the hall closet.

"Cock tease." Arthur grunted, following. He switched the closet light off behind Merlin (he'd have to lecture him about energy conservation later, if this arrangement was ever going to work out), watching him take out his cell and snap a few shots of the barren space.

"We can put the bed here," Merlin motioned, pointing to a sunny spot beside the largest window. "Couch and coffee table near the entryway. If we go without a dining table and chairs we can fit your easel and my sewing machine in the kitchen alcove, turn it into a mini studio space."

"Sure, it's not like we can afford new furniture. Speaking of furniture, I emailed Gwen yesterday. She's found a roommate so you can get your deposit back for the old Apartment. She said we could come by this weekend and get it, along with our stuff."

"That's great..." Merlin said, the sentiment never touching his eyes.

"Nervous?" Arthur asked.

"I haven't seen Gwen in a month. She wouldn't return my calls."

Arthur was keen to point out that he could say the same, until now. That if anyone had the right to be nervous about seeing Gwen, it was him, her ex-boyfriend.  Instead Arthur said, "It's only Gwen."

"Hell hath no furry like a woman scorned." Merlin replied, running the faucet in the kitchen to see that it worked properly. The first pulse of water came out with a rusty tinged from disuse. After a moment it ran clear, so he dipped his head under, taking two large gulps.

Arthur turned the tap off, cleaning the wet droplets from Merlin's chin as if he were a child. "We've survived expulsion, Nimue, and my dad. I think we can both manage chit-chatting Gwen and loading up a U-Haul."

 

* * *

 

Arthur thought: Of course he's the roommate.

A smirk tickled at Arthur's lips until Merlin glowered at him, pinching his bicep until Arthur's mouth fell back to a neutral line.

Lance had answered the door to the Oakland apartment, moving with the ease of a man comfortable in his surroundings. His stripped Lacoste shirt was freed to its second button, mahogany hair hanging in wet waves, as if he'd come straight from the shower. He smiled, locking Merlin into a hug that left watermarks on his white shirt. "Mer, It's been too long!" he said.

"You too, Lance." Merlin mumbled shyly.

"And Arthur, you're looking-" Lance scanned Arthur's' face, settling on the purple bruising of a healing nose. "Well…it's good to see you anyway." he said, shifting a stack of cardboard boxes and ushering the pair inside.

The living room was covered in boxes, all labeled by function or room. Three boxes labeled 'Kitchen' were half open, spewing crumpled newspaper on the floor, but others were fully packed and duck-taped, as if Gwen had been prepping to clear Arthur's things for some time. When she appeared in the hallway, her hair equally damp, Arthur had little doubt the true nature of her relationship with her new "roommate".

Gwen looked radiant in a navy sundress, her lips a soft pout. She whispered a hello, fluttering looks between Merlin and Arthur.

"Hey," they chanted back in unison.

"Merlin," Lance said, heaving a box labeled _Arthur's Clothes_ over his shoulder. "Would you mind helping me with the moving truck? I think Gwen wanted a word with Arthur. In private."

Arthur was keen to point out that Merlin and heavy lifting didn't' exactly go together (and so was Merlin, if his gaping mouth was any indication), but Lance quickly whisked Merlin from Arthur's side, Merlin frowning apologies as Arthur was left alone...with his ex.

Discomfort washed over Arthur as Gwen stared coolly at him. "Let's talk on the patio," she suggested. "It's quieter."

She pulled open the French doors, upsetting a vine curled in its frame. It sprung free, tapping Arthur's shoulder as they walked outside. Husks of wisteria crinkled under their footsteps. Gwen gesturing to a café set with shattered green paint.

"Sit."

Arthur obliged, watching her grab a metal watering can. There was a sweet pang as its belly filled, water swishing in the steel gut. She walked to a succulent bed that encircled the cement patio and began to water. The stony soil soaked up the water greedily. "Where have you been staying?" She asked, but before Arthur could answer, she said; "You've been staying with Merlin's parents, haven't you?"

"Yeah, but we've got a place now." Arthur said.

"I've met the Emrys a few times. Their good people, probably better then you deserve."

Arthur's stomach tightened, expecting to feel the sting of the watering can across his face.

She shook the last traces of water from the can, dropping and sitting across from him. "I'm as empty as this can, Arthur. If you came expecting a fight I simply don't have the strength for it."

"I don't want to fight you," he sighed.

"Then we still have one thing in common. So, what happened to your face?"

"Cosmetic procedure," Arthur smiled softly. "Never did like the bump in my nose."

"Morgan told me you and Uther got into a fight when you visited her. That you… um…. that you came out to him?"

"He's got a mean right hook for a man his age, but it needed to happen. I'm glad it happened."

Gwen swore under her breath, looking into the open courtyard. "Our first date, that terrible Spiderman movie, why did you ask me out, Arthur?"

Arthur's smile turned tepid. "Are you kidding? You were the most beautiful girl in school and still swore like a sailor. All the guys wanted you and I promised myself I'd get you before Kay Johnson did."

"As If I'd have let that Neanderthal near me! Do you... do you know why I said yes?"

"Because dinner was on me?"

"Because you were hot," Gwen said grudgingly. "And my friends said I would be mental turn down Arthur Pendragon," she paused and whistled through her teeth. "I've been thinking myself into insomnia this past month, thinking about us. Thing about what I'd say when I to you when I could stand to look at you again. Do you remember when I called you freshman year crying? The night I found my bike tires slashed?"

"You didn't remember time difference," Arthur chimed. "Called me at two in the morning sobbing. I was worried you'd been hurt. I think I told you to take a cab home?"

"You did, and I didn't listen. I must have walked past a dozen cafes, a dozen people taking their dogs out to pee, and not one cared enough to ask a nineteen-year-old girl why she was bawling." Gwen paused, rubbing her hands together. "But I made it home, Arthur. I walked to the bike shop the next day, bought new tires, and put them on by myself. I guess what I'm saying is I can take care of myself, and like I told you before, 'your not that irresistible'. No matter what's happened between us I'm going to be just fine, but you, Arthur how are you going to get by with school and rent? I'm assuming Uther cut you off?"

Gwen was right about one thing, the living stipend his father usually deposited in Arthur's account was missing this month. He didn't expect it to ever return.

"I've taken out a school loan," Arthur said, scratching the back of his neck. "I can live off my savings for a few months. The CCAC counselor set me up as a work-study adviser for the painting studio, in the spring semester. It pays alright. I'll probably need a second job, but I'll get by."

Gwen strained in her seat, her mouth opening twice before asking. "Are you happy, Arthur? Does Merlin make you happy?"

It was difficult to put to words how incredible Merlin made him feel, like asking what the color red looks like, or why candy tastes sweet. So instead Arthur nodded his affirmative, letting a new question form on his tongue. "Does Lance make you happy?"

"Lance?"

Gwen didn't look offended, so Arthur decided to press a little further. "Your new roommate. You two an item?"

She blushed, letting her curls tangle at the back of the chair. The gleam in her eye was impossible to miss. "I don't know. It's too soon to say, but… I like him."

Arthur was pleased by the answer. Lance was a good man, and an honest man. He'd love Gwen the way she deserved.

"Can you ever forgive me?" Arthur asked.

"For the break up? I've already forgiven you for that." Gwen said. "But for cheating on me? No, not in a million years."

"I never wanted us to end like this."

"It doesn't matter what either of us wanted, this is what is, and we both have to make due. You can help Merlin pack your things, but be sure to give him this. It came in the mail last week."

Gwen pulled out a long white envelope with Mr. Merlin Emrys printed in gold font. Arthur cradled the letter in his hands, reading the fancy return address from The Arts of Fashion Foundation.

He held his breath.

"Do you think its…?"

"They don't send rejection letters in envelops that thick," Gwen smiled softly. "I considered shredding it, but I couldn't. It's too important to Merlin."

"Thanks, Gwen, for the talk. For everything," Arthur smiled back.

She shrugged, watching him as he rose from his seat. "Arthur, one last thing, will you bring Merlin out so I can talk to him? I don't want it to be awkward between us next week in classes. We have a year and a half left of school together, I'm not saying things are going to be easy between us, but I'm willing to take the high road if he is."

The patio smelled of wet earth, of freshly trimmed grass and the budding life spring promised in a month's time. Feeling the winter sun on his skin, Arthur stared into the whites of his former lovers eyes. In that quiet moment, he was reminded why he'd adored Guenevere,  and why a part of him always would.

* * *

**_-Epilogue- 8 month's later-_ **

Arthur peered up from behind his laptop.

An older woman with brown cropped hair was hunched over his cubicle, pushing her translucent glasses down the bridge of her nose. "It's six o'clock," she said in a maternal coo. "If you don't hurry traffic will be deadlocked on 101."

Arthur gathered a stack of papers at his right elbow, shuffling them into a resemblance of order. "OK, Linda, I'll finish this up and-"

"Arthur, as your manager I insist you call it day. The work will be there Monday morning, promise. Heck, I'll add to it if you want!"

He huffed a laugh and put his laptop to sleep, taking in his reflection in the dimm screen as if it were a mirror. Arthur combed his fringe to the side, deciding he liked his part where it was, and then subtly checked his teeth to make sure he didn't have poppy seeds from his lunchtime bagel stuck in them.

After he'd chained his computer to the desk with a company-supplied cable, he stood up from his swivel chair. "Thanks, I really appreciate you letting me leave early."

Linda breezed into Arthur's cube, her smile tugging with warmth as she said, "You're a hard worker, kid. With all the late nights you've put in this month it only seems fair."

Since starting his internship with Apple, Arthur had tried to be a standout among his peers. He came into Apple Campus Cupertino everyday with the sunrise, leaving well after sunset. When he wasn't working on projects or picking the brains of the full time industrial design staff, Arthur was swapping painting techniques with his boss, or sitting in the front row of the lunchtime Executive Speaker Series, taking as many notes as he could scribble into his ledger.

That Arthur's manager hadn't failed to notice his enthusiasm, even complimented him for it, left a fuzzy feeling of pride in his chest.

"How long as has it been since you've seen you boyfriend?" Linda asked picking up the single photo Arthur kept at his workstation. It was the selfie of him and Merlin from their trip to Indiana. Merlin's ears were sticking out adorably under an ND hat, his high cheeks red from the cold, but his smile shone warmer then a thousand summers.

"A month," Arthur said, licking his lips. "But it feels like a lifetime."

Linda put the photo down and picked up Arthur's cardigan, throwing it over his head. "Don't keep him waiting, and feel free bring this Merlin to the office for lunch sometime. I'd love to meet this mystery man I've heard so much about, especially if he can hem pants!"

Arthur slipped it on and popped up the collar, hoping his grin didn't look as girly and lopsided as it felt. Was it that obvious how excited he was?

He signed out at the main office, jogged through the lush green interior of the campus until he reached his car. Sticking the keys in the ignition, Arthur prayed for the engine of the geriatric Saturn to start- kissing the dashboard with gratitude when it actually did.

Forty minutes, an hour tops if the traffic held, Arthur told himself, taming the butterfly's that twirled knots in his stomach.

He'd waited four weeks for this moment. He could survive waiting an hour more.

*

"That's my name."

Their eyes touched, and Merlin winked, his grin so wide his face barely contained it. He moved closer to Arthur, taking a cardboard sign from Arthur's hands. "Is that doodle is supposed to be me?"

Arthur looked down at his sharpie scribbled sign, then back up at Merlin, starring at him as if the lanky man was the only person in the crowded arrival terminal. Merlin's scarf was an immaculate teal knot at his throat; the perfect contrast to a rumpled T-shirt and the hint of black five o clock shadow painting his jawline. His hair had grown out since Arthur had last seen him, thick bangs flopping lazily over lake-blue eyes.

International travel was, apparently, a good look for Merlin Emrys.

"Yep, it's you," Arthur replied, licking his lips. "See... stick body, scarf, ears-"

"My ear's aren't that big."

"You're right. I ran out of paper."

Arthur was relieved to see Merlin still beaming at him. "Arrogant prick," Merlin rumbled, stroking the nape of Arthur's neck until it tickled. "God I've missed you..."

"I've missed you more." Arthur said.

And he had. He'd missed the taste of Merlin's chapstick on his lips, his smell, clean and sweet like herbal laundry soap. He'd missed the weight of his pale body spooning into Arthur night, and the desperate way he whispered, 'I love you' when Arthur spent inside him. Being parted from Merlin had been like holding his breath for weeks and now, finally, he could gulp air again.

Arthur pulled Merlin's thin hand into his back pocket with possessive affection, using his free hand to carry Merlin's luggage. "How was Paris, Love?" he asked.

Merlin tilted his head back. A low laugh rolled from his chest. "Where to be begin," he enthused. "The technique workshops were... Arthur' I've never learned so much in my life! Beading applications, real couture construction, I think the instructors liked my progress. They even let me work on their fall runway collection pieces! Granted at times the program felt more like slave camp then a reward."

Arthur nodded.

"Oh, and the shopping!" Merlin said, fingers playing circles in Arthur's pocket. "Marché St Pierre had five floors of just fabric, and Tissus Reine's notations... I brought a few meters of fabric home to play with. Thank goodness for my sloppy high school French, right?" Merlin paused for a beat, his face troubled. "I'm boring you, aren't I? I told you all this last time we Skyped."

"I like hearing it from your mouth," Arthur confessed. "Seeing the spark behind your eyes when you talk about your fashion. How was the rest of the trip? Didn't cheat on our no smoking rule did you?"

Merlin's eyebrows perked into question marks. "Can't a guy have his secrets?"

"I don't believe in keeping secrets," Arthur smiled. "But I won't bitch at you, just tell me you weren't picking up cute French guys?"

"Cuter then you?" Merlin laughed. "Impossible."

They fell into each others arms, exchanging a flurry of needy, almost sloppy kisses that Arthur hoped would never end.

"Take me home," Merlin sighed, pressing into Arthur's chest. "We'll get Thai delivery and talk about you for a change. Your internship-"

"Delivery?" Arthur balked. "You think I'm made of money?"

"I heard Apple pay's it's interns well."

"Mmm maybe. Especially when said intern leads the industrial design team to flag football victory at the corporate games."

Merlin's expressed his interest with a low groan. "Would've liked to see you muddied up on the field. Were you were wearing those clingy jersey shorts of yours?"

"I have the uniform at home, if you want to see it. Shall we skip dinner and go straight to desert... in the car?" Arthur asked, looping his fingers through Merlin's scarf.

Merlin bit his lip. "The car? Seriously?"

"You like doing it cars."

"No Arthur, you like doing it cars, and bathrooms, and elevators, and closets, I think you have a fetish!"

Arthur silenced Merlin with a lingering kiss. "You're wrong, Merlin, I like doing it with you, doesn't matter where. And I happen to be a very impatient man."

Tumbling together into the back seat of the Saturn, Arthur felt, for once in his life, as proud as the ancient king whose name he bore. After years of confusion and strife he'd touched real happiness, found in Merlin both a partner and an equal. Merlin was not only a lover Arthur was comfortable living with, but a boyfriend Arthur simply couldn't live without.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Sew Right](https://archiveofourown.org/works/827409) by [rowanbrandybuck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowanbrandybuck/pseuds/rowanbrandybuck)




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